The Beach House
by ladygris
Summary: When Will Brandt unexpectedly inherits a beach house from his estranged grandfather, he decides to rent the home to an old childhood friend. Things get complicated, however, when secrets are discovered and begin tying their families together. With an international plot coming to light, Will races to find an assassin before someone he cares about ends up dead.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to Mission:Impossible or its characters. Also, I own nothing related to Ephraim, Wisconsin. I have merely used the name because I liked it. This is a work of _fiction_ and is not meant to represent any person or location, either living or dead.

**Author's Note:** Welcome to my first Mission:Impossible fic, fifty-first on this site. This is a very character-centered story. The team will make an appearance, but this story is about Will Brandt. My goal was to explore a bit of his character, what makes him who he is and how his family past affected him. As I said in the disclaimer, I used Ephraim, Wisconsin, as the location simply because I loved the name. But I wasn't able to do as much research into the real Ephraim, WI, as I like, so the one presented here is fictional. Special thanks to **theicemenace** for her beta work and for slapping me upside the head with how unrealistic my character was. The story's much better for her help with it.

I realize that MI:GP came out in December, but I've shifted the time-frame of the movie for my purposes. All the events of the movie still stand, but I have the movie ending in March 2012 rather than December 2011.

Also, while I've posted two chapters today, I plan to post only one on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from now on.

All that said, I hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

December 1961. . . .

The enclave was silent, wooden paneling rising to the ceiling as cigar smoke swirled around the heads of the men gathered. Very few knew of this room with its long oval table and large, ornate chairs. One man sat at the head of it: their leader and representative to the Coalition's main council. One man sat at the foot: their newest member.

Robert Blake met the leader's eyes resolutely. He was not one to be intimidated, and he'd proven that over the last six months. With the passing of his father so soon after losing the woman he loved, he'd decided to take control of his own life. Why let the whims of emotions overshadow him when he could _control_ those emotions in others? Maryanne's panic had nothing to do with her circumstances, and he knew she regretted her decision. But he could not let that govern his life now.

Finally, the man at the head of the table spoke. "Why do you wish to bring Joseph Hayes to our circle? I thought he was your rival."

"He is." Robert's voice echoed in the cavernous space. "But he has resources we could use. Connections to the government through his company that would be beneficial to our aims."

The leader sat forward. "Go on."

Robert outlined his thoughts, including everything Maryanne had so foolishly told him about her husband's empire. Jospeh William Hayes was a jealous man, driven by his need to know everything about his wife, but he was a shrewd businessman as well. He understood negotiations and how to get what he wanted. The Coalition could use his instincts.

When he finished, he saw the men around the table nodding their approval. These faces were from a previous generation, ones that _formed_ the Coalition. They'd supported his father's decision to pass this chair on to him, and he wanted to return the favor.

Finally, the leader nodded once. "Invite him. But, if this goes badly, the consequences will fall to you."

oOo

"I cannot believe you came here for _this_!" Joseph Hayes had a temper that he rarely allowed himself to lose. But this. . .this was preposterous! First, Maryanne and now Blake? Joseph shook his head and glared at the man across the desk from him. "You have a lot of nerve, Blake. To think I would look past your actions last year and go into business with you? And for what?"

Robert Blake's expression hardened as Joseph ranted. "It's the best opportunity to come your way, Joseph. The best you'll ever get."

"Just because you say so?" Joseph shook his head. "No. Get out of my office. And don't come back."

"You're making a mistake, Hayes."

Joseph's eyes narrowed at the threatening tone in the other man's voice. Robert Blake was his age but smaller. Slender with fair hair and skin, he _looked_ like a pampered rich kid. _Acts like one, too_, Joseph thought. "Am I, Blake?" He stepped into Blake's personal space, not minding the height difference between them as he stared up into the other man's eyes. "You come into _my_ office and threaten me? After you've already taken advantage of my _wife_?"

"I told you, nothing happened between Maryanne and me."

Joseph laughed, two quick barks of sound that echoed in the office. "Yeah, and she. . . ." He cut off what he'd been about to say. His wife swore the baby was his, but he just couldn't bring himself to believe the blond little girl belonged to him. Sure, she was adorable, but _his_ kids were dark-haired.

Blake sighed and turned to the door before stopping and frowning. "How's Maryanne and that baby?"

Joseph blinked. "They're none of your concern, Blake. Now, get out of my office. And if I see you around my family ever again, I'll put a stop to it."

Blake nodded. "I'll see you around."

"No, you won't." Joseph's word was final. Maryanne was not to have anything to do with Robert Blake, nor would he ever allow himself to forget what this man had done. He held Maryanne responsible for a lot of things, but she never would have strayed if Robert Blake hadn't seduced her away. That one summer at the beach house had ruined their relationship. All he had left was his business, and he refused to sign that away, too.

Blake left the office, and Joseph calmly went back to work. Several years later, he heard that Blake had married, and he kept tabs on the man. Blake never came back to the beach house, never tried to contact Maryanne, and left the baby girl to grow up on her own. She truly was beautiful and, at sixteen, got herself pregnant by a kid named Michel. Her son, William, bore Joseph's middle name but was rowdy. His mother moved them out of the family home and to California against his wishes, and he rarely saw them. Maryanne made him promise not to disown her, and he didn't. When the day came that he buried the girl he'd raised as his own, he saw her rebellious son standing over the coffin. Young William's face was blank, a total lack of expression that spoke to Joseph of his inability to comprehend the real world. In those moments, after realizing that he'd kept his promise to Maryanne, Joseph walked over to the boy. A few words was all it took to sever any connection to William, and he left the graveyard free of the weight of a renegade young man who had never belonged in his family.

Joseph William Hayes felt no remorse for that until the day he died.

~TBC


	2. Chapter 1

March 2012. . . .

The death of his grandfather felt like a footnote in the story of William Brandt's life. Of course, he was in Dubai at the time, so he was more than a little surprised to find a letter from an estate attorney in his mailbox. He snorted. None of his family knew where he lived. Up until a week ago, _he_ hadn't known where he'd live.

Setting aside the letter, which asked him to contact the attorney at his earliest convenience, Will wandered into the bedroom of his Washington, D.C. apartment and crawled onto the bed. He'd just come from the office, having finished filing the myriad of reports and giving the umpteenth debriefing on events surrounding Hendricks' attempt at starting nuclear war. The world was scrambling to recover from the close call, and the President had finally lifted Ghost Protocol. Brandt and his entire team were once again claimed by the United States. It felt great to be legal.

The apartment, however, looked like he'd just moved in. He had leased the place a week ago, after India, and had been fortunate enough to have his belongings shipped from Virginia. The IMF had chosen to move their headquarters after Ghost Protocol, and Will was happy to make the change.

Other things had changed for Brandt. Before Moscow, before Dubai and India, he'd never planned to enter the field again. Then, in only a few moments, Ethan ferreted out the truth of _what_ he was and prompted Will to think about the choices he'd made. He still didn't want to go back into the field, and he doubted Ethan would want him on the same team if given a choice. But the new Secretary had already expressed a desire to use Will as an agent, preferably with the team that had just finished saving the world.

Now that the debriefs and reports were finished, the team had scattered. It had been two weeks since he and the rest of them had climbed onto a plane in India to return to the United States. Two weeks of repeating the same story, of writing the same reports, and of seeing the same doctors. Jane had required minor surgery for her bullet wound, and she'd been placed on medical leave for eight weeks. Just like Ethan, who had nearly lost his field status following an injury to his knee during his fight with Hendricks. The team was worn out and in dire need of vacations. So, had the medical doctors not placed them on a six-week hiatus, the shrinks would have.

Will woke around three the next morning with one arm hanging off the bed and his shoes still on his feet. Pushing himself up, he forced his eyes to stay open long enough to change into pajamas. Then, he returned to bed for another five hours. At eight, he rose and took a long shower, reveling in the ability to relax. He didn't have to go back to work or look at files or listen to the news or any number of things associated with his job as an analyst. Never mind the physical conditioning he'd need if he chose to go back into the field. He was exhausted, and his battered body had already begun thanking him for the time off.

The letter from the attorney called to him after he made coffee and sat down to read the paper. It had to be a practical joke. He no longer had the same name as his family—something he always saw as a layer of protection for them—and they hadn't cared enough to attend his mother's funeral. So why would any of them care to mention him in their wills?

Knowing he wouldn't be able to get on with his day until he resolved the matter, Will picked up the phone and dialed. As he waited for an answer, he mentally reviewed everything he knew about this particular law firm. One drawback to being an analyst as well as a field agent was his inability to shut off his mind or his obsessive need to know _everything_ about _everyone_.

This law firm was good. As soon as Will identified himself, the receptionist connected him to the attorney mentioned on the letter. That man requested a meeting with him for that afternoon, just after lunch, and Will was able to enjoy the rest of his lazy morning. He washed laundry, unpacked a few boxes, and moved the rest into the guest room so the apartment felt more like a home. He hadn't really bought groceries yet, so the kitchen had stayed relatively organized. Deciding that he wanted to get out, he left his apartment and drove to a coffee shop known for their gelato and paninis.

With lunch out of the way, Will finally arrived at the attorney's office. He smiled politely at the receptionist—same one he'd talked to on the phone—and was escorted immediately into the attorney's office. John Michaelson was an older gentleman, small-framed and slightly shorter than Will. He wore a very expensive three piece suit and wire-framed glasses. When Will appeared, he gave him an assessing stare that had the IMF agent wondering just what this estate issue concerned.

"Well," Michaelson said after introducing himself, "you're certainly not what I expected."

Will raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"I was led to believe you were quite different." Michaelson showed no remorse for his words.

Will settled into the chair the attorney motioned toward, adjusting his beige suit coat as he did so. Given that this meeting involved business, he'd dressed the part: light suit, white shirt, and light blue tie. Just enough to be professional without seeming too pretentious. It helped that, due to his lack of time, his suit had wrinkles in it that made him seem hardworking and committed to his office job. "Let me guess. They told you I was the unknown member of the family, they didn't know where I was, and wouldn't be surprised if I was a bum somewhere."

Michaelson merely hummed at that. "I asked you to come in, Mr. Brandt, because there's a slight matter with your grandfather's estate that needs to be settled."

Will blinked. "My grandfather's estate? I wasn't aware he'd passed away."

Michaelson's expression changed to one of disbelief. "Three months ago. I'm sorry you weren't informed."

Will did the math in his head. Three months ago, he'd been standing at the Secretary's side in France, solidifying some agreement or another that seemed completely inconsequential now. "I was out of the country on business." He didn't add that his grandfather's death really didn't sadden him. He'd never been close to the man, and grieving now would seem wrong somehow. "I also wasn't aware he'd named me in his will."

"Uh. . .he didn't." Michaelson finally showed the first sign of discomfort. "It appears your cousins have decided to pass something along to you, and they've done so under the guise of your grandfather's estate. While he didn't leave anything to you, the people he _did_ leave it to have the authority to bequeath the property to whomever they wish. Once they located you, I was retained on their account to facilitate the transfer."

Will ran a hand over his mouth. "Let me get this straight. My grandfather left me nothing—which doesn't really surprise me—but my cousins _felt sorry_ for me? So they gave me something?"

"I really cannot speak to their mindset concerning your state in life, Mr. Brandt. I merely have a job to do, both for you and your family."

Will couldn't stop the ironic laugh that escaped. He glanced around the elegantly appointed office and shook his head. This was just like his family. Leave something undesirable to the disowned cousin just to appease their consciences. It smacked of charity. "And if I don't want it?"

"Then you are free to sell the property to whomever you wish."

"Wait. Property?"

"Yes. A beach house in Ephraim, Wisconsin, and its adjoining beachfront property."

"The beach house?" Will laughed again. "They left—_gave—_me the beach house?"

"Is this a problem?"

"Do you _know_. . .Of course you don't." Will stared at the attorney. "That house is probably falling down. Last time I was there was. . .twenty years ago, at least." He frowned. "Besides, what do I want with a beach house?" Then, he held up a hand. "Never mind."

"Mr. Brandt, I understand this is a bit of a shock to you, and I apologize." Michaelson shrugged. "I am merely here to help you through the legalities of transferring the deed into your name and such."

Will nodded and stood. "Can I have a few minutes?"

"Sure." Michaelson also stood. "I'll be in the break room down the hall."

As the door closed behind the attorney, Will wandered over to the window and looked out. The elite business section of Washington spread out in front of him, and he propped his hands on his hips. Ironically, the news that his grandfather had died and left him nothing didn't bother him. After all, the last thing Joseph William Hayes wanted was to leave any of his hard-earned money to an illegitimate grandchild. No, it was his cousins' arrogance. _What were they thinking? We don't want the beach house, so let's let poor little Billy have it?_

Will rolled his eyes. He'd worked hard to get away from that nickname, from anything related to a childhood spent with family who hated him. He'd only ever had his mother, and she had done everything in her power to see that he was happy. The rest of the family had struck a tentative truce through his mother's life. Once she'd died, however, everything changed.

Yanking his mind away from that precipice, Will rubbed his head and tried to figure out what to do. He could reject the beach house, sell it, or move into it. Right then, none of those options sounded great. But he did have six weeks to figure out what to do about it. And he'd never been one to allow his emotions get in the way of a sound judgment. Even in the heat of the moment, he tried to think through all contingencies. _Yet another curse of being an analyst._

So, what were the contingencies? Spend a month deciding what to do. Sign paperwork today, visit the house, and _then_ decide what to do. Reject the offer of charity and maybe never see his family again. Every single option had pros and cons. But the only one that would _accomplish_ something was the second.

Sighing deeply, Will yanked the office door open and made his way down the hall. The "break room" was more of a lounge, complete with a bar designed to allow wealthy clients the freedom of discussing their estates in comfort. Michaelson had poured himself a cup of coffee and was watching the news from a couch. As soon as he saw Will, he jumped to his feet. "Would you like a cup?"

Will shook his head and shrugged. "I'll take it. The house, I mean."

Michaelson gave him another assessing stare before nodding. "Very well. I've got all the paperwork ready. All we need is your signature, and it'll be yours. Free and clear. There are no outstanding liens on the property, and all property taxes have been paid for the next five years."

Will nodded and then sighed again. He'd just inherited a house. What on earth was he supposed to do with _that_?

oOo

The first time he'd ever visited the beach house, he'd been five. At that age, everything seemed big, and his cousins had been young enough to accept him. They ran around in shorts with bare feet, went swimming in the lake every day, and brought home stones and driftwood as gifts for parents. And, presiding over it all, their grandparents watched with indulgent smiles from the wide back porch.

Things changed through the years. The beach house slowly shrunk until it was a fraction of the size that Will remembered. His grandmother was diagnosed with cancer and wasted away until she could barely breathe while sitting on the back porch. The paint started chipping, and the cousins ultimately realized why he wasn't to be accepted. The last time he visited the beach house, he'd been sixteen, angry, and rebellious enough to make his presence known. The arguments that arose from that visit echoed through the years and ended their "family" vacations. Will couldn't have been happier about it.

Now, nineteen years later, the house seemed smaller. Decrepit. Made of white clapboard siding, it desperately needed a new coat of paint and a little TLC. Set quite a ways from the beach, the house had windows that looked through an opening in the trees to Lake Michigan. Inside, the two outside walls of the living room were floor-to-ceiling windows. Will remembered those windows covered in lacy curtains with couches and chairs pushed up to them. In the morning, the sun would pour through them and warm whoever sat there. The carpet, now tattered and flattened by years of use, covered the beautiful hardwood floors of his memories, and Will found himself saddened at the state of the house. He remembered that his mother and grandmother had loved the beach house and, even if he didn't want it, he hated to see it let go.

Standing in the living room, with a myriad of memories playing through his mind, Will made a decision. He couldn't stay in Wisconsin, fixing up the house and living in it. But selling just wasn't the right option, not at the moment.

That evening, he wandered the beach and tried to decide what to do. Spring break had come and gone, leaving Ephraim somewhat deserted until summer. Even then, this stretch of the beach didn't generally see a lot of traffic. He could have the house maintained for his use when stateside between missions. Or he could rent it. Turning to where the white bungalow peaked through the overgrown trees bordering the beach path, he sighed. It needed a tenant, not an owner who barely visited.

Once the sun set, Will made his way to the large bedroom at the back of the house. It had always been his grandparents' room, and the old iron bed was the only piece that remained. Spreading a sheet purchased at the nearest Walmart over the mattress, he settled in for the night and tried to sleep. He wound up staring at the ceiling with memories playing through his mind. When the sun finally rose the next day, he went to work.

A week later, the house had been thoroughly cleaned and assessed. The front and back porch needed new boards as time and weather had rotted the old ones. Plumbing was still in good condition, though not the newest. And the water heater rumbled. Given that it was nearly thirty years old, he made the decision to replace it as soon as possible.

He also decided to rent the place out. Given the off-season, it could take some time, so he visited the bed and breakfast for lunch and put up a flyer advertising the bungalow. He set the rent at what he thought was a reasonable rate and then stopped in at the local hardware store for the supplies to refinish the hardwood floors. That night, he slept with a fan blowing the fumes through the house and outside while the floors in the living room and second bedroom dried.

The following morning, Will heard a car roll to a stop in front of the house. The road leading to the beach passed to the right of the house, so traffic wasn't that uncommon. But few people stopped. Most just slowed down, particularly today when he worked in the yard.

Walking around the side of the house, Will watched as the driver of a worn green minivan double-checked the address on the flyer he'd posted in town. When the numbers matched, she turned off her vehicle and climbed out. Will immediately began assessing her: five-five, long blonde hair, slender, about one-twenty soaking wet, graceful, and a little lost. That last observation made him blink in surprise. She tucked her hair behind her ear as her brown eyes swept the area and settled on him. She smiled. "Am I in the right spot?"

"Depends." He wiped his hands on a rag from his pocket and walked over. "What can I do for you?"

She stood only an inch shorter than him thanks to heeled ankle boots. Her jeans were somewhat tattered but comfortable, contrasting with the black top with slashed sleeves that showed off her shoulders. "I'm here about this," she said, brandishing his flyer before offering her hand. "Noelle Blake."

"Blake. . . ." The name seemed familiar. He blinked himself from his thoughts and shook her hand. "Will Brandt. You caught me doing yard work."

Her smile relaxed just a bit. "No problem. I can come back if this is a bad time."

He shook his head briefly. "Come on in."

She followed him up the steps onto the porch and eyed the missing slats. But she didn't ask if he intended to replace them. The new lumber leaned rather obviously against the side of the house. At the door, she stepped inside and glanced around. The living room was empty and echoed with every step, but she smiled yet again. Will quietly watched as she fell in love with the house.

"This place is incredible!" She whirled on her heel. "Are you sure about the rent?"

He shrugged and tucked his hands into his pockets. "No," he replied honestly. "I'm from DC, and that's actually a fraction of what we pay there. But. . . ." His voice trailed off as she walked into the kitchen.

"No way!" Her delighted voice floated back to him. He wandered in to find her staring at the vintage stove. "Does all of this work?"

"Yes." His amused answer brought her up short, and he watched the transformation as he leaned one shoulder against the door jamb.

She straightened and turned to him. "I'm sorry to be so rude. It's just. . ." She let out a deep sigh. "This house is amazing, Mr. Brandt."

He smiled at that. "It is. And it's 'Will.'"

Her eyes turned toward him again, this time sharp and assessing. He got the feeling she was looking for signs of subterfuge or a reason to push him away. When she saw neither, she nodded. "Thanks. Um. . .how soon would I be able to move in? If I decide to stay here."

"Are you planning on leaving Ephraim any time soon?"

"No." A shadow crossed her face. "Just. . . .I really need to find a place, and this is the first one in my price range."

He nodded. "Well, I can have it ready for you to move in this evening." He shrugged. "But there's a lot of work still left, and I'd be around a lot. So it's really up to you."

She wandered through the rest of the house, and Will had the sudden thought that he'd not made the bed that morning. He knew it wasn't true since he was obsessively neat, but it made him chuckle.

Noelle finally came back to the living room, where he waited in the same door as earlier. "Okay. But only if I'm not pushing you out or something."

"You're not." He straightened and met her eyes. "Five this evening? I'll have the contract here."

"Sounds good." She shook his hand one more time and climbed into her van.

Will watched her go. The back of the van was packed with boxes, leaving only a small tunnel for her to see through. The bench seat had blankets on it, with a pillow obvious through the windows. Various items like a coffee pot, a few dishes, and a hot plate filled the front seat. _She's living out of her van?_ The realization made him glad he could up and move at a moment's notice.

Deciding to leave the rest of the yard work for another day, Will headed for the bathroom and a shower. Afterward, he cleaned the house as well as he could, typed out a contract, and packed up his few belongings. The bed and breakfast in town looked nice, and he didn't mind shelling out the rent if it meant this woman had a place to live.

oOo

Noelle Blake nearly squealed as she drove away from the beach house. She could _not_ believe her good fortune in finding a place to live within the first hour she'd been in town. And it was perfect! Hardwood floors, worn paint, vintage. . . .That house had everything she'd wanted for years. And then some.

Her landlord wasn't too shabby either. Will Brandt looked tired, but that could have been the yard work. His sweaty, dirty appearance didn't bother her so much as his assessment had. His striking blue eyes seemed to see right through her facade. It didn't help that she'd always been a sucker for blue eyes.

_Best to stay away from him as much as possible_, she decided. Of course, she wouldn't be able to completely avoid him. As beautiful as the house was, it needed a lot of work. She didn't mind a bit of elbow grease, but replacing old decking went a little beyond her abilities. And it meant she'd be able to look out the window and drool over the man.

Rolling her eyes, Noelle pulled into the parking lot of a small thrift store near the center of town and got out. She'd changed into a new outfit in the Walmart bathroom one town over, and she needed to walk around. Besides, it looked like she had a house to furnish, and she didn't really have the money to invest in brand new furniture. Coming back to Ephraim was an easy decision, and she didn't regret it in the least. Ever since she'd left in high school, she'd wanted to come back. But Travis wouldn't hear of his wife returning to her roots. In his world, everything had to be modern, perfect, and new.

Noelle pushed away her bitter thoughts and checked her watch. She still had plenty of time before the business day ended, and she had a lot of things to consider. Her belongings had been packed into her van for so long she didn't quite know what all she had. Sheets, pillows, blankets, clothes, a few knickknacks and books. That summed up everything she had to her name. In addition to a monthly stipend, the divorce settlement had included her vehicle and personal savings account. Nothing else. Not that she wanted anything else. Just having a working vehicle to her name—never mind if it wasn't the newest or didn't have air conditioning—and the extra boost from her savings meant she didn't have to completely start over.

But she would need a job. The monthly alimony check would help a great deal, but only for three more years. After that, Noelle needed to have herself set up so the loss of the alimony check wouldn't affect her lifestyle. That factor had gone into her decision to come back to Ephraim. Here, she should be able to find a job and live on her income alone, stashing her alimony checks in the bank for future use. Since she couldn't depend on Travis in the least, she figured living off of his "charity" would be a bad call.

_And again with Travis. Stop thinking about him!_

But she couldn't. Not with the changes in her life about to take place.

Their divorce had been final for two years, and Noelle had to be honest. She was lonely. In that two years, she'd been ostracized and treated like the one at fault when, in reality, she'd been completely innocent. But ten years of misery did not equate to two years of carefree living. Those two years had been anything but carefree, and, no matter what Travis or her family said, she didn't like being a gypsy.

_It wasn't that bad!_ She returned to her van as she scolded herself. For nearly two years, she'd held the same job and lived in the same apartment. When her employers downsized and cut her position, she took to the road. Feeling it better to cut her losses before she was evicted, she left Chicago and its memories behind, returning to a place that had good ones.

Noelle often wondered what would have happened if her family had never left Ephraim. She'd never really taken the time to think it through. Life was about choices, and choices always came with regrets.

The thrift store was crowded with furniture and not a lot of people. Which suited her just fine. She smiled at the lady behind the register and proceeded to sit on each of the couches. She found one: a beautiful white couch with accent pillows of blue-and-white linen. The upholstery was dirty, and the wooden support structure of the Queen Anne couch needed some TLC, but it had the worn vintage look that Noelle needed for inspiration. She immediately saw it positioned against one of the windows, just where she could lie on it and look at the sunrise over the beach.

Smiling, she paid the slightly higher price for the couch and made arrangements to have it delivered the next day. She found a few more pieces to go along with it, including some Blue Willow dishes for the kitchen. By then, the clock had crept toward five, and she needed to drive back out to the beach house.

Will Brandt waited for her, leaning his elbows against the worn railing around the wide front porch. He straightened, and Noelle noticed he'd cleaned up. He still looked tired, but he now wore a pair of light-colored slacks and a white shirt. The shirt was wrinkled, and it made her smile. Somehow, the imperfection made him even more attractive.

Getting out of her van, she walked over to him. He met her halfway down the steps, shaking her hand again and motioning her inside. "Sorry to keep you waiting like that, but I had to. . . ."

"I understand." Noelle knew she'd interrupted him, but she felt bad that he wanted to apologize all the time. Just like the first time she'd been inside this house, she breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn't explain it, but it felt like home. "I'm just glad I found this place first."

A genuine smile turned his lips upward and lit up his eyes. It changed his entire appearance from a weary man to a delighted child. "Well, I wanted someone here who would appreciate it."

She narrowed her eyes. His tone of voice indicated something deeper. "You sure you want to rent this place?"

"Yes," he said decisively. "It's been in my family for years, and I recently inherited it. But I live on the East Coast. Once I get the repairs done, I'll be headed back there and turning this over to a property management company. Knowing the person living here has a fairly high regard for the place is just. . ." He shrugged. ". . .peace of mind."

Noelle eyed him again, but he seemed determined. So, she pulled a pen out of her purse and turned her attention to the contract he'd given her. It seemed fairly reasonable and allowed her to have a pet in the house. It also stated that the rent was not to change without a written agreement between the tenant and landlord, which caused Noelle to breathe a sigh of relief. By putting that clause in there, Will had committed to not jerking her around on the rent.

Happy with the provisions and terms of the agreement, she signed the contract and watched as he checked over her information. One eyebrow rose, and he blinked at her. "F. Noelle Blake?"

She felt her cheeks heat. Out of everything that could have embarrassed her about this entire situation, he picked her name. "My first name's Francesca."

"Francesca." He seemed to be trying the name out, almost tasting it. A slight smile tipped his lips upward for a brief moment, and Noelle wondered why she noticed every little thing about him. Then, he frowned. "If I can ask, why not use it?"

"I. . . ." Noelle stopped what she'd been about to say. For so many years, she'd lied and told people that she didn't like her first name when, in reality, she kind of did like it. Well, she had, years ago. Before Travis. "I've gone by my middle for so long it's habit."

He accepted that answer with a thoughtful expression. She could almost see the way his mind worked. Somehow, he'd picked up on the truth that more had happened to change her opinion of her name than not. "Then, Noelle, it's been a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise." She shook his hand and walked him to the door. "If I can do anything to help around here—besides just living here—let me know."

He rolled his eyes slightly at her tongue-in-cheek comment. "There'll be a lot. And I'm sorry the house is in such poor condition."

She waved his concern away. "Please. This is better than anything I've lived in for three months."

He accepted that with a nod and left a moment later. She watched him back out of the driveway and head toward town, her eyes narrowed. Will Brandt wasn't like most men she knew. Even when they didn't want something from her, they typically had to ogle her hair or some other aspect of her appearance. But Will Brandt seemed intrigued by her first name. Why, out of everything, had he chosen that name to attract him? Or was it just unusual enough in his world that he liked it?

Pulling her mind from her landlord, Noelle began unloading the boxes crammed into the back of her van. She carried them into the smaller of the two bedrooms, stacking them neatly along the wall until she could get through them. Her clothes went into the large bedroom, and she took another moment to look around. This room had a queen-sized iron-framed antique bed, complete with fresh white sheets and a vintage chenille bedspread. It caused the room to be rather bland and in dire need of color, but it fit the entire house.

Tired from traveling most of the day and the nerves of renting the house, Noelle collected clean clothing and moved into the bathroom. The water heater rumbled as she drew a bath in the cast iron claw foot tub, but she smiled as the steam filled the bathroom and the sound of the lake came through the window she'd cracked to let the steam escape.

She had a home, and she would build a life. And she'd do so in the town where she'd grown up. Finally, she had something she wanted.

And she planned to enjoy every minute of it.

~TBC


	3. Chapter 2

**Guest:** Thank you so much for reading! Updates will be on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and I hope the story is one you enjoy!

As always, I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!

oOo

He dreamed of India that night.

Will woke in a cold sweat, the air conditioner making the room seem even cooler. Blinking away the images of what might have been, he sat up and wandered to the small corner deck attached to his room.

It wasn't uncommon for dreams of his most recent mission to interrupt his sleep. On more than one occasion, he'd literally dreamed up several different outcomes, none of them pleasant. But this time. . . .In this one, they'd failed to stop the missile in time, and the entire western seaboard of the United States had been obliterated. While not original in the least, Will had enough compassion to recognize what would happen. Even without the nuclear fallout, the results would be devastating. His analyst's mind automatically began calculating the most natural conclusion to such a scenario, and it left him watching the sun come up as he tried to put his recent work back into perspective.

They hadn't failed. The missile hadn't been detonated. The world didn't know how close it had come to nuclear war. And his team had come through in spite of injuries.

What more could he want?

Heading downstairs to the dining room, Will settled into a corner table. The bed and breakfast also housed a restaurant, and guests at the B&B received a complete breakfast. Today, it was sausage gravy, biscuits, and scrambled eggs. He ordered a cup of tea and sipped at water while he ate. Then, he reached for the newspaper the elderly owner had delivered with his morning meal. The_ New York Times._ Will skipped the sports section and the gossip page, going directly to politics and world news. He read every word, stopping only long enough to add a touch of sugar to his tea. Even on vacation, he couldn't shake the need to know everything that was happening in the world at that moment. He never knew when it would come in handy.

With his morning routine out of the way, he drove back to the beach house. The yard still needed taming, and the front and back decks begged for attention. He was not expecting to see Noelle on the front porch, draping the bedspreads over the rails.

She looked up as he parked, her hair tied back in a bun and brown eyes smiling at him. She appeared rested today, probably as a result of sleeping in a bed rather than her van. Her faded jeans and t-shirt told him she'd geared up for some serious work. "Good morning!"

Will returned her smile. "You've been busy."

She shrugged. "I found all the blankets. They're in pretty good condition, but needed a good washing."

He nodded. "I have no idea how old those things are." He stopped and thought for a moment. "Come to think of it, I remember the one I put on your bed yesterday from when I was a kid. So, at least twenty years old?"

She stepped carefully over a hole in the deck, her chosen shoes for the day sturdy tennis with scuffs along the sides. "Believe it or not, that makes it even better." She rolled her eyes at him as she waved him inside. "If you haven't noticed, I have a thing for vintage. The older, the better."

He stopped just inside the door. Her coffee had scented the house, blending with the lake breeze that came through every window to create a welcoming environment. "Then you'll get along great here."

"I know." She reached for a travel mug. "I made coffee. There's plenty since I didn't know what time you'd be here."

Will almost declined, saying he preferred tea. But something stopped him. Maybe it was her hopeful expression or just that he'd not been invited to join anyone for coffee just for coffee's sake in years. "That would be great."

While she poured him a cup, he wandered to the back door. The day was beautiful, perfect for more yard work. The forecast called for gray skies in the coming days, and it was still early enough in the year that the beautiful weather could change in an instant. He wanted to make the most of the good weather so that, when he returned to Washington in three weeks, he could leave knowing most of the work had been done.

Noelle delivered his coffee, and Will thanked her. Then, he asked the question that had been lingering in his mind. "Your name. . .Blake?"

Her smile turned tense. "I lived here as a teen." She sighed as she thought. "My family moved when I was sixteen."

"How long ago was that?" Then, Will realized how that sounded. "I'm not asking about your age, if that's what you think. It's just that the name seems really familiar, but I'm having a hard time placing it."

"It's been seventeen years." She glanced at him. "My parents moved us to Chicago."

He thought for a moment. The name was entirely too familiar. It brought up images of summer days on the beach, his cousins' ire when he managed to talk to the pretty girl with freckles, and. . . .He shook his head. "You're not going to believe this, but we've met."

Her eyebrows rose. "We did?"

"Yep. But, back then, I knew you as Fran."

A slight blush darkened her cheeks. "Don't remind me of that." Then, she frowned. "Help me out here. You obviously have a better memory than I do."

"Billy Hayes?"

Her jaw dropped. "_You're_ Billy Hayes?"

He laughed with her. They'd met the last time he'd been out to the beach house. One of his cousins had had a crush on her, and he'd found a way to stick it to his family for excluding him. It had prompted arguments and an ultimate withdrawal from any and all family vacations. "Yep."

"But you. . . ." She motioned to her hair and ears.

"Had crazy hair and pierced ears?" He sipped at the coffee she'd given him. "I grew up."

"I'll say!" Then, her eyes grew round. "Sorry. That just slipped out. I didn't mean. . . ."

Will laughed, and it felt good to know she meant nothing by the statement. "Relax. I understand. You grew up, too."

That tense smile returned, and he suddenly realized it was her way of putting on a mask. Whenever something got a little too close to home, she would throw up that smile. Most people wouldn't notice it, but he'd been trained to read expressions.

Deciding to give her a break since she had just moved back to Ephraim, he motioned toward the back door. "I think I'll get on with the yard while it's cool out."

She agreed and went back to whatever would occupy her time.

Just before noon, Will heard another car pull to a stop in front of the house. He rounded the corner in time to see an older gentleman greet Noelle with a smile. He motioned to the couch in the back of a truck, and Will rushed forward to help. With Noelle directing them, the two men managed to situate the pretty but old couch against the windows near the back door. Noelle found rags to put under the feet of the couch so she could slide it around without marring the floor. The off-white upholstery caused dust to puff into the air, and she sneezed quite daintily as she went to work beating the thing to get the dust off of it.

Back outside, Will finished the yard. By then, the day had passed and the cool of evening started to settle over them. His back ached, and his muscles hurt in a way they hadn't in a long time. He worked out regularly, and his recent adventures with Ethan Hunt had caused a bit of soreness. But this was the pain of good, hard labor. Glancing around, he nodded happily. The overgrown shrubs had been trimmed down, the knee-high weeds and grass cut, and the tree branches trimmed away from power lines and the house. He'd left some of the wild growth around the edge of the property, forming a privacy barrier until he could get a fence built. But it looked so much better. He'd even discovered two Adirondack chairs that needed sanding and painting but could last for a while longer. Before tossing them, he figured he'd let Noelle decide what to do.

She appeared as if summoned by his thoughts. Her shirt was dirty and bleached in spots, and her jeans had a new hole ripped in the knee. Wisps of hair framed her face, and she had a dark smudge across her chin. But she looked happy. "Wow! It looks great out here!"

He nodded. "I knew there was a yard under that growth."

She studied his handiwork for a time before flushing and forcing herself to meet his gaze. "While you were working, I was cleaning the bathroom. I couldn't help noticing. . . ." She motioned to the window, which now showed everything in the room thanks to his aggressive pruning of the climbing rose.

He ran a hand over his mouth. "How about some privacy screens?"

"Please!" Noelle spotted the chairs at that moment and dropped the subject, but Will continued to think on it. He wasn't a carpenter or builder. He was just a spy. As such, he read people well, did what was necessary, and faked what he didn't know until he did know it. But building things? He'd never been especially handy with tools of that sort, and having a house that needed so much work would certainly test the limits of his patience.

Feeling an exhaustion headache coming on, he left Noelle planning how she would repaint the chairs and use them somehow to drive back to the bed and breakfast. She had waved when he said goodbye, and he gratefully retreated to his room to enjoy some quiet. After a very long, very hot shower, he logged onto the Internet and started a bit of research.

He had a deck to lay, privacy screens to build, and a house to repaint. He needed help and a lot of instructions.

He fell asleep propped up on his bed with the computer in his lap, a home improvement show playing. That night, he slept peacefully and didn't dream a thing.

oOo

Ephraim, Wisconsin, boasted a population of around three hundred. During spring break and summer, the population swelled as well-to-do families brought their children up for a break from their busy lives. But, most of its residents lived on retirement checks and their own personal savings. The village had a small general store, a post office, one motel, one bed and breakfast, a few fast food places, and several gas stations and churches. The biggest source of year-round income came from the marina and all related services.

That evening, in the dining hall of the bed and breakfast, two men in their seventies shared coffee as they ended their busy day. Axel Wolff ran the B&B with his wife, Greta, while his brother-in-law, Matthias Janson, owned the town's second-hand store. The two liked to shoot the breeze and get on Greta's nerves. Tonight, however, their conversation drew even her attention.

"I saw it," Matthias declared. "With my own eyes."

Axel shook his head. "Blakes and Hayes in the same house? Was it peaceful?"

"Yes!" Matthias's eyes widened. "He even helped me move a couch in for her."

Greta sipped at a cup of tea. "Well, I'm glad one of the Hayes finally decided to come back to that place. Been a shame to have it sittin' empty for so long."

Both men nodded. Then, Axel asked, "Which Hayes is it?"

Matthias grinned. "William."

The trio fell silent. All of them remembered how badly Joseph Hayes had reacted to his grandson's birth. None of them really held it against poor William. He'd grown up to be a decent man if Axel believed what he saw. William Hayes-Brandt had checked into the largest room the bed and breakfast offered, not questioning the rate and keeping to himself. Axel remembered the kid from years ago, and he knew that only his mother's memory had kept William from self-destructing.

Greta settled back in her chair. "Wonder why _he's_ the one here. I thought Joseph disowned him."

The men with her shrugged. They knew the history. It had been all over town for decades, buried but ever present. Finally, Axel glanced at Matthias. "What about the Blake girl?"

"Francesca?" Matthias smiled proudly. Before opening the second-hand store, he'd taught at the high school. "She's as pretty as ever. Don't think she knows or cares about family history. Otherwise, she wouldn't have rented that house from William."

The conversation continued as the three reminisced about their glory years and how the town had changed. By the time they retired, they'd agreed not to speak about the Blakes or the Hayes again. If William Hayes-Brandt and Francesca Blake wanted to start up something that would set off another family feud, it was their business. Neither of the two families lived in Ephraim any more, and the only way the relationship would cause trouble would be if a wedding took place. Even then, most of the town would appear just to see the fireworks and how many bruised egos went home.

oOo

Will Brandt didn't believe in love at first sight, but he did believe in love at first _sound_. He liked Noelle as a person, but he _loved_ her first name. Francesca. It just evoked images of an Italian villa, nobility, and luxury. But Noelle seemed to hate it, and he wondered why.

There was a peace in Ephraim he hadn't found anywhere else. And he'd been to quite a few places around the world. But, as he got older, travel didn't appeal as much as it once had. He found himself missing times when he could relax without pressure or the job invading. Noelle seemed to sense that need and fill it without making it obvious.

Shaking his head as he drove to the hardware store, Will glanced at the coffee beside him. He still preferred tea, but she made something called piñon coffee. It was sweeter than the average roast, and he liked the somewhat nutty flavor. A touch of sugar and vanilla creamer took it to a whole new level, and Noelle had smiled when he complimented her on the cup she'd presented to him that morning.

He made her uncomfortable, though. And he knew why. Will's line of work involved reading the opposite sex well enough to know what the woman wanted from him. It helped when he had to seduce the rich girl or just make a woman—other than Jane—talk to him. While Noelle didn't _want_ anything, she still betrayed her thoughts through body language. She found him attractive, something that stroked his male ego, but she had no intention of pursuing it.

Will breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't come back to Ephraim to find a woman. He'd returned to settle affairs with the beach house.

At the hardware store, he browsed the available lumber and picked out several new colors of paint. He and Noelle had talked that morning, and they'd agreed that the house needed something inside. Noelle liked the idea of muted tones, keeping the majority of the walls white with color to offset the blandness. And Will liked her willingness to do the work. Not that he would take advantage of her. If she found a job, he'd happily put in the time to get the house where both of them wanted it.

It felt odd to have someone else share a vision for the home. Nice, but odd. He and Noelle had nothing between them beyond a shared past some twenty years ago, and their respective desires to keep things platonic had created a truce. The beach house seemed to be the one thing they both loved, though in very different ways. Noelle adored the place, while Will had slowly come to appreciate the history. It wasn't good history for the most part, but, in his world where family was nonexistent, it grounded him.

After collecting the massive amount of supplies, he drove back to Ephraim and delivered things to the beach house. Noelle had spent the day wandering town, and she smiled as she told him the owner of the bed and breakfast had agreed to hire her as a hostess for both the B&B and restaurant. She helped him carry the paint inside while telling him about Greta, and Will shook his head. Noelle fit this town, and he was glad to see someone he cared about settling into life.

The sun had fully set by the time he arrived back at the bed and breakfast. Staying here felt more like a vacation, and it allowed him time to rest and think. His corner suite and small deck looked over the lake and hearkened back to a time before cell phones, before computers, and before life became so difficult.

Tired of thinking, he made his way upstairs and ignored the sensation of someone watching him. Once in his room, he dropped the oblivious act and moved to the window to look out. Life in the IMF taught him to never truly relax, even if he knew the bed and breakfast's owner had questions. Will had given the old man nothing to worry about, and he had yet to decipher the surprise or suspicion he saw around town. It just fit right in with what he remembered of family vacations in Ephraim. The warm feelings starting to blossom about the beach house were offset by the knowledge that the people here knew _something_. He couldn't help wondering if that something had anything to do with him.

oOo

The next morning, Noelle rose early and brewed coffee. Then, she dressed for work. In Chicago, she'd been in insurance, but it had been a job. This new position at the Wolff bed and breakfast was different. When she'd been there the day before, she'd felt almost at home, like she knew these people rather than merely remembering them from her previous time in town.

Will arrived just as she finished tucking her long hair into a bun. The simple hairstyle looked elegant on her, and she'd chosen a black skirt with the blouse she'd worn the first time she met Will. _Or, rather, re-met Will_. Even now, she still couldn't believe that William Brandt was the same Billy Hayes she'd flirted with as a young teen. Back then, Billy had been older, dangerous, wild, and just what her fourteen-year-old heart needed for the summer. Her parents hadn't liked him, but her parents didn't like the Hayes family. Billy Hayes was forbidden fruit, and, in spite of the disapproval, she'd bitten. They had merely been friends, with Billy the indulgent older brother who liked hanging out with his younger sister. But it had left an impression on Noelle.

Now, she watched him climb out of his car and glance around. Today, he wore old jeans, a light-colored shirt untucked, and work boots. His hair was a touch too long, brushing the tops of his ears and collar, and the breeze coming from the lake ruffled it beautifully. The wild-child was gone, though, leaving behind a man who obviously had his own career and life. _He said he works in Washington, D.C. I wonder what he does._

Instead of dwelling on the questions, Noelle opened the door and let him in. She'd already made coffee, and he smiled as he accepted the cup she gave him. He glanced at her clothes. "Work?"

"Yes." She shrugged sheepishly. "I get off at five, and I can help after that."

He shrugged. "No problem. I'll work on the deck while the weather holds."

Noelle eyed the sky. The clouds had settled over the area, changing the once-blue sky into dark gray. "Good luck." She checked the time. "I really need to go."

"Have a good day."

The exchange was so normal, so domestic. Noelle watched as he stepped out of the house and waved from the front deck. Before she got out of the drive, he'd turned his attention to the tools he'd stacked nearby, already reaching for the first bit of lumber. But she sensed him watching her head to work.

How did she feel about having Will around? She liked him, and he didn't pressure her. The last couple of days had been nice. He was a good conversationalist and seemed to disdain their families' mysterious feud.

But he was dangerous. She couldn't shake the sense that there was more to Will Brandt than what he showed the world. His ability to tell when she wanted to drop a subject unnerved her, and she wondered how he'd figured out what her trigger subjects were.

_Doesn't matter,_ she decided as she arrived at work.

For the first half of the day, Noelle filled out paperwork and listened as Greta Wolff explained the B&B's computer system. It didn't seem all that complicated, though the first time she checked in a visitor would probably prove otherwise. Greta was a sweet woman, seventy-two and a grandmother. She called Noelle "Sweetie" and insisted she join the family for lunch. "Family" consisted of Greta, her husband Axel, and her brother Matthias.

When Greta told Matthias that Noelle would be joining them, Matthias's face lit up. He met Noelle's eyes. "You don't remember me."

Noelle frowned as she sat down. "I'm sorry, I don't. Should I?"

He grinned, his tired blue eyes sparkling. "Eighth grade English?"

Noelle's jaw dropped, a reaction she couldn't avoid. "Mr. Janson!"

"Make it 'Matthias' now. I'm not teachin' anymore, and you're old enough to use my first name." He held her chair for her. "Besides, it's nice to see one of my students come back for once."

Noelle shook her head. She'd never been particularly fond of reading before eighth grade, but Mr. Janson had made English fun. Because of him, she'd entered—and won—several writing competitions in high school. Her mother often said she could have been a bestselling author, but she went and got married instead. At eighteen, fresh out of high school, Noelle had wanted romance over success. Now, at thirty-three, she regretted not picking success.

Lunch went well until Axel turned to her. "I have to say, we're all a bit surprised that you rented _that_ house."

Noelle felt the temperature in the room drop several degrees. About that moment, it started raining outside, and she had the random thought that Will had been rained out of his plans to finish the deck. "Should I have gone somewhere else?"

"No." Axel, at seventy-four, still managed to look like a sheepish little boy under the disapproving gaze of his wife. "It's just that Hayes and Blakes don't mix."

Noelle set down her fork, grateful she'd eaten most of the food. Unfortunately, Greta's wonderful cooking had gone to waste as it turned in her gut. "With all due respect since you're my boss, don't say stuff like that. Will's a friend from years ago, and it doesn't matter what happened with our families in the past. He was a friend then, and he's a friend now." She lifted her chin. "I make my own decisions, not my family."

Matthias glared at his brother-in-law for a moment. "Ignore Axel. He's too nosy for his own good."

Noelle nodded, but her day had just been destroyed. She'd known since childhood that Hayes and Blakes didn't mix, but no one had ever explained why. Having that pointed out now stung. She'd come back to Ephraim to get away from a bad relationship. She didn't need one forced on her by well-meaning but misguided friends, even if said friends were old enough to know the town's secrets.

At five, she waved goodbye to Greta and drove home. As she came around the curve in the road, she watched the rain stream down her windshield and sighed. What happened between the Hayes and the Blakes? It was obviously big enough to still be known, and she hated that people automatically assumed she and Will would hate each other. He left her feeling slightly off-balance at times, but she still liked him.

Movement in one of the windows drew her attention, and she smiled. So, Will was still around. He'd obviously transferred his work inside, painting the living room. Noelle ducked her head and managed to get inside without being totally soaked.

The entire house smelled like fresh paint. And the living room looked great. Will stood on a step stool, using a brush to cut in around the ceiling. Noelle's couch had been pulled away from the wall, and the just-off-white shade highlighted the trim around the windows. She smiled. "This looks wonderful."

"Oh, hey." He set his brush in the empty can he'd been using and stepped down. "I didn't realize it was five already."

"Yep." Noelle carefully set her purse on the counter between the kitchen and living room. "You didn't have to paint inside. I can do that."

Will straightened, his hands going to his pockets. "I don't mind."

She saw it then: a twitch of an expression that was hidden almost before she could realize what it was. Will Brandt wanted to be _wanted_. Not in a sexual sense. He just needed to know someone enjoyed his company and wanted him around. He was lonely.

Noelle knew how that felt. "Why don't I make some dinner then?"

He opened his mouth to decline and obviously thought better of it. Leaving him to go back to painting, she headed to her room to change into work clothes. Will was a good enough friend to help her with the house, his obligations as a landlord notwithstanding, and he didn't ask too many questions. Why, then, would the people in town be shocked at the two of them being friends?

What had happened between the Blakes and the Hayes? Why didn't they mix? And why would no one tell her anything?

The questions multiplied the longer she lingered, so she hurried to the kitchen. Will finished painting the living room and cleaned up the area while she made stirfry from fresh vegetables to put over rice. She used some leftover chicken from the previous night to season it, and the two of them shared the couch while watching the rain come down on the beach. Later, when Will left, he promised to leave some work for her the next day.

Noelle watched him go. Thanks to her well-meaning boss, she now had questions without answers, and she'd never been one to ignore her curiosity. Unfortunately, she had no way of finding those answers just yet, and the only person who could help her refused to talk to her.

~TBC


	4. Chapter 3

**Guest:** Thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story.

oOo

The rest of that week passed before either Noelle or Will realized it. The rain settled over the area, dropping temperatures and making it difficult to paint even inside. Instead, Will spent time going stir-crazy at the B&B while Noelle learned a new job. He enjoyed watching her, however, and found he missed sharing coffee in the morning. She was a friend, and he had precious few of those anymore.

But he really shouldn't allow himself to become so attached to someone here. Should he? Anyone who knew him well would pick up on the secrets he kept, and they'd want to know about those secrets. While Noelle had her own secrets, she likely wouldn't settle for such generalities as "I have an office job" or "I travel a lot for work." She struck Will as the type to want details.

Then, there were those moments when he realized he'd stepped in it and didn't know how to get out. They usually cropped up around such small things as the condition of her home, why she'd lived out of her van, and if she had any other furniture in storage. She had a past that had nothing to do with the family drama between the Hayes and Blakes, and Will wished he could figure it out. It would help him understand her a little better and avoid any unwelcome conversation.

He didn't know what she'd do if he pried, but he suspected she'd clam up. Part of his job was knowing how to get the information he sought, and irritating the poor woman wouldn't work. No, he'd have to treat this like a deep cover mission. _Meet the target, become friendly in whatever fashion is required, build trust, learn the truth._ Unfortunately, that sort of operation took time, and Will didn't have it. Or did he? He hadn't given the Secretary any indication of his intentions with the IMF, and he could technically refuse a few missions. He did need a vacation, and extending the one already forced on him wouldn't be hard to do.

But did he want to put that much effort into learning the truth about Noelle to just walk away? Satisfy his curiosity and be done with her? That smacked too much of what his cousins had done to women in the past, and it had always rankled Will. Even when he'd been Billy Hayes, he'd hated to see the girls his male cousins hurt in the process of satisfying their own desires. It usually ended badly for everyone involved. Besides, he had the old family feud to think about. Did he really want to create more tension between the Hayes and the Blakes? Or would any of them care?

He didn't have any answers, and he spent the weekend trying to decide the best course of action. His work as an analyst had taught him to look at all sides of a problem and make a call on how to proceed. He failed miserably when it came to the subject of Noelle Blake. He just didn't have any idea how to get what he wanted without hurting either of them in the process.

The rain finally cleared by Monday, so Will showed up at the beach house to do more work. The deck was too wet for the repairs to continue, but Noelle let him into the house so he could work on painting. She apologized profusely for not having it done, but he waved it away. He had something to _do_ and suddenly realized why he didn't just move into the beach house for himself. He needed to stay active.

How were Ethan, Jane, and Benji doing? The question occurred to Will after Noelle left for work. He hadn't heard from any members of the team and had no idea whether they even wanted him around. After all, he'd really stepped on all their toes when he hid his past as an agent from them. He suspected that Jane and Benji understood why he hadn't said a word, but Will had never told Ethan. How could he? He was responsible for the death of the man's wife, and nothing he said or did—no apology—would ever make up for that. Ethan Hunt had every right to hate him, and Will sometimes hated himself.

Those thoughts left him in a sour mood, and he glared out the window for a long time. It had taken a lot of years to get over what happened in Croatia. Even then, he had never fully recovered from being the man responsible for Julia Hunt's death. The IMF trusted him with a mission, and he failed. _Your mission, should you choose to accept it. . . ._ The now-familiar trope played through his head, and he ironically thought he should have refused that mission. But that was the problem with the IMF. They handled things so vitally important to world politics and global peace that refusing a mission was next to impossible. Even if you disagreed, you still had to think about what the long-term complications would be if the mission failed.

Or maybe that was the analyst talking. Will set up in the spare bedroom, putting the same pale linen color on the walls in here as in the living room. Noelle had really taken to the style of the home, choosing to add pale green to the kitchen walls to break up all the monochrome coloring. And she'd found several new pieces of furniture over the weekend, including two wicker chairs for the living room that somehow went with everything else.

It took Will the rest of the day to finish the guest bedroom and the hallway. Noelle had agreed to paint her bedroom and the bathroom, relieving him of the uncomfortable sensation of prying into her personal life. Yes, he owned the house. But it was her _home_. Just like he wouldn't want his landlord poking around his personal business, he refused to do so to Noelle.

She arrived as he finished cleaning out the last of the brushes for the day and taking a few measurements for the privacy screens around her bathroom window. If the weather held, he intended to build a new trellis for the climbing rose planted below the window, one that would function as a shutter and help train the rose to grow in a little better area. For now, he turned as she stepped through the door, looking tired and ready to be off her feet.

A smile touched her lips when she saw him, though. "Hi."

Suddenly, the situation seemed a little too intimate. He returned the smile. "I'm almost done. Just. . .need to finish cleaning some things up."

She kicked off her shoes right next to the door, walking barefoot into the kitchen to open the fridge. "No problem." She pulled out a bottle of water and then eyed him hesitantly. "I know this is going to be weird, but. . .Well, I. . . .I got a small grill, and I put some meat on to marinate this morning. It's too much for me, and. . . .Would you like to. . .uh. . .share dinner?"

Will turned to face her as she flushed and stumbled over her invitation. "Uh. . . ."

"I mean, it's not a _date_ or anything. I just. . . ." She stared at him, a completely vulnerable look in her brown eyes. "I kind of don't want to be alone tonight. It's just. . .today wasn't the best day, and I really. . . ."

"I understand." Will glanced down at his attire, pleased to see he hadn't dripped too much paint all over him. "Let me know if you need anything."

A smile lit up her face, and she shook her head. "You've worked harder than I have today. Though, if you're looking for something to do, I could handle having some furniture set up on the back deck."

Will grinned at that and dutifully went to set up a table between the two chairs on the deck. The chairs still needed a good paint job, but Noelle had already sanded them down in preparation. They fit perfectly against the corner of the house, and a small charcoal grill tucked neatly into another corner. The air was a bit chilly, but it would make a great evening just enjoying dinner with a friend.

Noelle had done a lot for the house. He realized this as he looked around. She'd picked out the paint colors, filled it with furniture, added little touches of herself here and there, and somehow, with just her presence, kept it from looking derelict. The only changes to the outside came in the repairs to the deck, but having someone living in the house just seemed the right thing. Not for the first time, Will was glad he'd rented it.

She came outside to start the grill, and they worked in companionable silence until dinner was ready. While Noelle grilled and prepared a vegetable dish inside, Will took measurements for the privacy screen and started putting it together in his mind. Based on the instructional videos he'd watched online, it shouldn't be too hard to get the thing together. He just hoped he didn't do something like slicing his hand too badly. That would certainly ruin his mood.

Then, he realized what had happened. With just a simple invitation, Noelle had managed to lift the morose mood he'd been in until he felt accepted and at peace. Smiling as she carried their drinks outside, he let out a deep breath.

Maybe it wouldn't take him too long to satisfy his curiosity. He just suddenly hoped he'd be able to leave when he did.

oOo

Noelle carried a couple blankets outside along with the tall glasses of tea. Will stood at the railing, looking at the beach and lost in thought. He did glance in her direction as soon as the door opened, but he seemed to recognize her without really seeing her.

There was something about him that was a little too wary. Noelle saw it all the time, and it made her wonder what kind of man William Brandt really was. A cop? Crook? Accountant? Somehow, she doubted he just sat behind the desk. She'd seen him working, and the muscles hidden under his clothes weren't the working-out variety. He did something physically demanding, and it intrigued her that he chose an accountant's appearance.

He appeared to help her carry their plates outside, setting them on the table she'd purchased at Walmart the next town over. It had cost a bit, but summer was coming. She needed to be able to get outdoors and enjoy the sound of the lake on the beach. After all, that was one reason she rented this house.

They ate in silence, both unwinding after the day. Will lost the tense, wary look he'd had when she first got home, and she managed to push aside her own struggles.

"What happened?"

The quiet question startled Noelle. She glanced up to see Will contemplating the last bite of chicken. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged with one shoulder. "You looked. . .upset."

She sighed deeply. "You ever have one of those days where something you'd just rather forget won't leave you alone?" When he nodded understandingly, she continued, "It was like that today."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No." She eyed him. "What about you? How'd you go from Billy Hayes to William Brandt?"

He raised an eyebrow, finally looking at her with assessing blue eyes. He seemed to peel away the masks she wore and find her reasons. "It's a long story."

"Okay."

He sat back in his chair, letting out a deep breath as he rubbed his hand over his mouth. "The summer we met was the last time I ever came to the beach house." He shook his head, pressing his lips together as he did so. "I always knew something was different, but I never knew what. That was the year I learned that it was _me__._ Then, we just didn't come here anymore."

"You and your parents?"

"Me and my mom." He watched her as he said it. "Never knew my dad."

Noelle cleared her throat. "Sorry." She shifted in her chair. "Uh. . .so, after that summer?"

"We went back to California." He blew out a breath, his eyes looking into the past more than at the beach. "I went back to being Billy Brandt. It was something of an identity for me. I was tough, and the other kids were afraid of me. I guess I kind of had it coming because I was the bully."

She chuckled. "Now _that_ I can't see."

He grinned. "I knew how to charm a girl, too. That's why you didn't see it. But I didn't have those piercings and that hair for nothing."

"True." She finished her tea. "What changed?"

"I went to college." He shook his head. "At first, it was a party. But, then, one of the girls I knew went to a party and never came home. They said it was alcohol poisoning. But that made me really stop and think about what I was doing. I didn't stop _doing_ it, but I always thought about her. My entire freshman year is a blur, and I remember my mom having the _biggest_ fit when I went out partying that summer. She said I was gonna kill myself." He took a tremulous breath. "I guess I was okay with it. She wasn't. She came to get me one night during my sophomore year and just. . . ."

Noelle watched the change. Will might have been a grown man, but grief was grief. No matter who a person became, their losses still hurt even years later. "I'm sorry."

He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. "It wasn't a drunk driver or anything like that. We got into an argument that night, and I kicked her out of my dorm room. Three days later, the cops showed up to tell me she'd died from a massive stroke."

Noelle winced at that. "Will, I'm _so_ sorry I asked."

"Don't be." He turned to face her, his expression firm. "That changed me. The last thing I said to her was to tell her to get out of my room. I never meant for her to get out of my life." He fell silent for a moment, letting out a deep breath and shaking his head. "I left college for the rest of the semester and, when I went back, I was different. I just decided that. . .Well, no one was going to help me out or look out for me. So it was up to me, and I couldn't stand the thought that she died for nothing." He cleared his throat. "So, what about you? How'd you go from Fran to Noelle?"

Noelle smiled tensely. She should have known he'd turn the conversation back on her. "Mom and Dad moved us to Chicago when I was sixteen. I met a guy, fell in love, got married, got divorced, and came home."

He narrowed his eyes. "Look, if you don't want to talk about it, just say so."

"It's not that. It's. . . ." She realized his tone of voice. He wasn't angry or hurt so much as giving her an out if she wanted to take it. "Sorry. I'm used to getting lambasted for something I couldn't control."

He nodded at that, an understanding expression on his face. "Okay, so, how come you don't like your name?"

"What? Francesca?"

"Yeah."

"It's. . . ." Noelle shrugged. "My ex didn't like it, so I quit using it." There. She'd told him the truth even if it didn't begin to cover everything that happened.

Will stared at her for a long moment, his eyes still narrowed. "Well, he was wrong," he said eventually as he sat back in the chair and looked at the sky. "Your name's pretty. _Both_ names."

For just a moment, Noelle didn't know what to say. For the last twelve years, she'd used her middle name and had grown comfortable with it. She even liked it. But her first name? That was a taboo subject even with her family, and she'd allowed a man she really didn't know to ferret out the truth. Travis had been so controlling, and his absolute disdain for her name only made things worse. In his mind, "Francesca" belonged to a farm girl, not a savvy city woman. Noelle wasn't even an acceptable name to him, but he didn't want to spend the money it would take to change it. Not to mention her absolute refusal. "Noelle" was a family name, as was "Francesca," and she planned to use one or the other.

Realizing she was staring, she tried to find something to say. "Really?"

"Yep." Will kept his eyes on stars that had finally appeared. "Francesca. It's. . .noble and luxurious. Like one of those Italian villas that have history in the walls. You just expect a princess or duchess named Francesca to come out of one of the rooms."

Noelle smiled at the image he created. When he said her name, he did so with a playful tone, one that made certain she knew he wasn't trying to do more than compliment her. "I'm not noble or a princess or anything. But thank you."

He looked over then, a smile on his face and all tension gone. "You're welcome." After a moment, he added, "Francesca."

She laughed and punched his arm.

The rest of the evening passed quietly, and Noelle regretfully walked Will to the door after another half hour. She had work the next day, and he looked tired. But their conversation over dinner, while not necessarily light or relaxing, had done wonders for her. She retired that night smiling at the teasing but complimentary way he said her first name. And she decided that, if he wanted, he could use it. But only him, and only because he made her laugh.

oOo

Will stewed the entire drive back to the bed and breakfast. He stopped just short of berating himself, and he refused to take his anger out on the car.

The lies had slipped out way too easily.

He really shouldn't have been surprised. His entire life was about lies and deception. So why should it bug him to tell Noelle that he'd always been a Brandt when he'd _chosen_ that name? Why did he all of a sudden want to be a Hayes again?

_You care too much._ The little voice in the back of his head whispered the truth, and Will pushed it away. Of _course_ he cared too much. He had liked Noelle back when they were kids, and she was an attractive woman. But just because he cared didn't mean he was falling in love with her.

Did it?

Back in his room, Will gathered his clothes and climbed into a shower. All he'd done was paint that day, and it had taken a lot out of him. Maybe it was his thoughts through most of the day: the debate whether to return to active IMF field work or stay an analyst. Maybe it was being back at the beach house and remembering that he wasn't a member of his own blood kin anymore. Or maybe it was a combination of everything. He couldn't be sure. Whatever had happened, it had worn him out.

After his shower, he climbed into bed and switched out the light. But he continued to stare at the ceiling, his thoughts not shutting down like he wanted them to. He'd had days like this before, and there was always the next mission to prep for, the next mission brief to record, the next crisis to avert. Here, he had nothing. He was left at night with his own thoughts and memories that should have been forgotten.

But Noelle had asked, so he'd answered. Most of what he'd told her was the truth, and he didn't regret a single one of the choices he'd made after his mother's untimely death. But that little bit about his name. . . .Didn't a man's name help define him? For years, he'd been at peace with the Brandt name because, frankly, it created a layer of protection between him and his family. Even though he'd been out of the field for a few years now, he still had a few bullets with his name printed on them. Thankfully, he wasn't as well-known as Ethan, but that didn't change much. He made enemies in his line of work, and letting his family think he was dead or didn't care was best.

Then, a thought occurred to him, and he tossed onto his side. Somehow, in spite of the IMF's security, his family had found him. How? There were ways around IMF's name-change policies, but they were pretty complicated and little known. It was because of those policies that he'd officially changed his last name. But, still, they'd found him.

Which one of them had found him? A private investigator? A cousin? His grandfather before the man died? Will's lips curled as he thought about that. At this moment, he couldn't bring himself to care whether or not he'd pleased the man. Joseph Hayes had stood over his daughter's coffin and disowned her son. He hadn't earned Will's devotion or favor after that.

When he finally did get to sleep, he dreamed about his mother, about hearing of her death, and about her funeral. It had been a defining point in his life. He might not have cared what his grandfather thought about him, but he did care what his mother thought. Out of his entire family, she'd been an outcast along with him. And she'd taught him to be better than he was back then. So, he'd taken the summer to get his head screwed on straight and had gone back to school with a new purpose. People who knew him before saw the change, and they eventually quit inviting him to parties and such. He discovered a love for strategy and problem-solving, leading to his degree in Criminal Justice. On the day he graduated with honors, he left behind the life of Billy Hayes.

He didn't change his name right away. A recruiter for the IMF approached him, but there was a long hiring process. Figuring he had nothing to lose, Will started using his given name and continued working his rather steady job. When the IMF finally came through and revealed the scope of what he'd be asked to do, he had jumped on the opportunity. Travel the world on the government's dime, fight bad guys, and make a difference worldwide? What kid his age wouldn't want that? He endured the lengthy, grueling training and, on the day he became an agent, legally changed his last name to Brandt.

Up until Croatia, he'd never regretted a single decision since his mother's death. But Croatia shook everything he believed about himself. He'd been making life-or-death situations every single day for years, and it suddenly didn't mean much if he couldn't keep one woman alive. His idea of preventing such an event through better intel and planning led him to become Chief Analyst for the IMF. The Impossible Mission Force didn't give out that title to just anyone. An analyst had to prove himself or herself through their work, and a near spotless record as an analyst made William Brandt one of the best.

All that changed in Moscow when he saw Ethan Hunt again.

The following morning, Will pulled out his phone and dialed from memory. He listened to the ring tone on the other end and actually smiled when the person answered. "Benji? It's Brandt."

"Brandt?" The Englishman's distracted voice changed. "What time is it where you're at?"

"Early." Will ignored the clock that told him the sun hadn't even risen yet. "Got a question for you. But I need to know you're secure."

"Okay." Benji obviously set aside something, and Will listened as he cursed. "Okay, sorry. I'm secure."

"A couple weeks ago, I found out my grandfather passed away." Will ran a hand over his face, seeing dawn starting to lighten the eastern horizon. "Somehow, my family—who I've not heard from in fifteen years—found me. They found my _new_ name, Benji. Not William Hayes, but William Brandt."

Benji cursed again. "It's possible. I mean, we take precautions and classify all that kind of thing. But if someone has the right connections or the right abilities, they can find out. . . ."

"That's what I'm worried about." Will ran a hand through his hair, thinking about Julia Hunt. "Benji, you know better than me that what we do. . . .There're people out there who wouldn't stop with just me. And, no matter what my family's done, they don't deserve that."

"I'll look into it," Benji promised. "Just don't do anything stupid."

"I won't." Will hung up a moment later.

Just talking to Benji had helped. Back on the mission, he'd found Benji a combination of annoying and intimidating. With just a few keystrokes on the computer, Benji could completely erase a person's life. Somehow, through all of that, Will had learned to trust the Englishman. If Benji said he'd take care of something, he would. Will just had to wait for him to work his magic.

Deciding he was up for the day, he sat on the deck and watched the sun rise. His eyes told him that he hadn't slept much, and he sighed deeply. The moment he showed up at Noelle's, she'd know something was up. And he didn't have an answer for her.

The rest of the morning passed quietly with Will preparing for another work day and eating breakfast. He arrived at the beach house just before Noelle left for the day. She answered the door with a smile on her face and a coffee cup in her hand. "Good morning," she said brightly as she handed him the cup.

Will chuckled as he accepted her offering. "Thanks. I needed this."

Her bright expression changed suddenly. "Rough night?"

"Yeah." He took a sip of coffee and ironically thought it had never tasted so good. "You should teach Greta how to make this!" The comment slipped out before he could stop it.

Noelle laughed. "Not sure I could teach her anything." She shifted on her feet. "Look, before I go, I wanted to apologize."

Will went from studying the wonderful cup of coffee to studying her. She had an uncertain expression on her face and, if he was reading things right, had bitten the inside of her lip. "Why?"

"For last night." She shrugged, her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "Yesterday was a rough day. My ex called to tell me something, and Greta wanted to make me feel better. Usually when Travis and I talk, the best thing is to just get on with life. Not help me over it. I know she had the best of intentions, but it just really got on my nerves. You don't tend to ask a lot of questions, and being alone just didn't appeal. But you've got your own life, and. . . ."

"Wait." Will held up a hand to stop the rambling apology. "For the record, my life right now is getting this house in decent condition so that, when I go back East, you don't have to worry about anything. So staying to share a quiet evening on the back deck really didn't bother me."

"You didn't mind too much?"

"I didn't mind at all."

"Good." Noelle nodded as if convincing herself. "And, now, after that thoroughly embarrassing explanation, I need to go to work."

Will couldn't help it. He laughed as she found her shoes and purse. Noelle gave him a mock irritated look, but she waved with a bright smile.

After finishing his coffee, he made his way outside and to the back of the house. He managed to get the privacy screen finished and in place before noon and, when Benji called, decided to walk along the beach. Benji started in on what he'd found and then paused mid-sentence. "Are you at the _beach_?"

Will chuckled. "Yeah. My grandfather left behind an old beach house on Lake Michigan."

"Okay, next vacation is at your place."

"Sorry, no can do. I've already rented the house."

"You _rented_ it?"

The smile still hadn't left Will's face. Somehow, the conversation had lifted a bit of the irritation. "What did you find, Benji?"

"Well, that's just it." The Englishman quickly refocused his attention. "They didn't hack our servers, and everything about you seems to be secure. I think they just used good old-fashioned investigative work. How long ago did your grandfather pass?"

"Almost four months."

"Then it was probably a very good investigator. I mean, if I knew who it was, I'd be looking into him as an analyst because if anyone can find you after IMF changes your identity, then they've got serious skills."

"Or they just got lucky and someone recognized me." Will ran a hand over his face. "It wouldn't be hard to link me to the government, and the right wheels greased in the right places would lead them to an analyst named William Brandt."

"Or, there's that," Benji admitted. "Look, don't worry about it too much. I mean, don't freak out if someone startles you any more than you would. It's not very likely someone will come after you. But I've already brought the matter to the Secretary's attention, and IMF is looking into it. They're still setting up everything in the new office, so we're double-checking to make certain we weren't breached."

"Thanks, Benji."

Will hung up a moment later, not really at ease. This all seemed very innocent, but even innocent things had a way of biting him in the rear. He hoped beyond anything that a private investigator had just gotten lucky. But if a PI could find him, then his enemies could.

Closing his eyes, he sighed and resisted the urge to throw his phone into Lake Michigan. It looked like he would have to move after leaving Wisconsin. Just the thing he _didn't_ wanted to do.

~TBC


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Just a quick warning for this chapter since I don't know who all is reading. We all know that both Will and Noelle have not-so-great pasts family-wise. Noelle's shows up here. Be prepared.

Other than that, I hope you enjoy the chapter. ~lg

oOo

Something was wrong.

Noelle sensed it the morning after she and Will shared dinner on the deck, but she didn't _know_ for certain until the weekend. He still showed up at the house, did work, and typically left before she got home from her job. But she started noticing little things: new locks on the windows and doors when the old ones were just fine, the way he seemed to assess the area when he arrived in the morning, and how he always asked if her days were normal. Not good, but normal—like he was looking for something out of place. In those moments, he seemed less like an accountant and more like a bodyguard keeping an eye out for danger. And that concerned her.

But what did he have to be worried about? Noelle's relationship with her ex-husband had been difficult, but Travis had never _physically_ abused her until the very end when she walked out. He was verbal, though, and she often dreaded what he'd say. But Will seemed to expect trouble in the form of attackers coming after her. And it caused him to draw away.

On Friday evening, she managed to get home before he left. He'd started painting the front of the house that day, and she caught him on a ladder. He glanced down with a smile as he emptied his brush. "How was your day?"

"Fine." She squinted up at him, the sun turning him into a silhouette. "Stay for dinner?"

"Uh. . ." He glanced at his watch. "Sure."

She hadn't expected him to agree so easily. Rushing inside, she found enough food in the fridge to throw together a meal and had a lasagna in the oven before he knocked and entered the house. She turned with a smile, and the smile dissolved into a laugh. "You're speckled!"

He wiped at his face, making the problem worse. "Yeah, the paint sprayer I bought was a piece of junk."

She tossed a hand towel his direction. "I hope the paint's water based."

"It is." He headed for the bathroom and closed the door.

Noelle stayed in the kitchen. She liked Will, but he kept himself at a distance. And she was grateful. She didn't know if she could handle a relationship right now.

But what about a friendship? Will had not indicated he wanted anything more than that, and Noelle knew she'd jumped to conclusions. Why couldn't men and women be friends without anything else between them? It had happened in history, and human nature dictated that people needed other people. But why should she be stuck with simply Greta as a friend and her options with Will as a romance or nothing at all?

She hadn't resolved those problems when he reappeared. He'd managed to get most of the paint off his face, though it still peppered his hair quite liberally. His work jeans, plaid shirt, and the paint changed him from the accountant she'd first met into a man who worked with his hands for a living.

He leaned against the counter, watching her work. "So, normal day?"

"Yes." She glanced over. "Why?"

He shrugged with one shoulder. "Just. . .last week, you said it had been a rough day. I was making sure. . . ."

"My ex called that day," she explained a second time. "Like I said then, it's never really easy. When he's spinning a bunch of lies, it's even worse."

Will narrowed his eyes. "He lie to you a lot?"

"Every day." She rolled her eyes. "Why? Planning on tracking him down and teaching him a thing or two? Because it wouldn't work."

"How can you be sure?"

Noelle blinked at the sudden change in his voice. It had lowered, become a lot more dangerous. And he seemed a bit sheepish, almost as if he hadn't meant to say that. Or for her to hear it.

He obviously saw her look and snorted at himself. "Sorry. That slipped out." He shook his head. "Um. . .how about we leave the past in the past and just. . . ."

"Good idea." Noelle hated the sudden tension between them but then reminded herself that she'd only been in contact with Will Brandt for two weeks. She knew next to nothing about him save that he'd once been a teenage crush of hers. And he really didn't know her or her triggers either. So, some tense moments were bound to happen as they found their footing and figured out just what they wanted from one another. "So, when you go back East, what is it you do?"

He gave her a sharp look before a smile softened the expression. "I work for the Department of Transportation."

"Really?"

"Yep." He accepted the tea she offered and helped her carry plates and forks to the table on the back deck. "I help train DoT officers in procedure and self-defense so that, when they do make a traffic stop, they're prepared for anything. And you'd be amazed at what sort of trouble a person pulled over for speeding can cause. Most of them are routine stops, but routine stops can turn deadly in an instant."

Noelle grinned at the way his face lit up slightly when he talked. He seemed to believe in his work, and he had suddenly explained the strange wariness that crept in. "So, you're a traffic cop?"

He held up a finger. "Glorified traffic cop trainer," he corrected her.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll remember that next time."

They laughed, the tension from earlier broken. But, as he left later that night, Noelle allowed her smile to slip. She'd put on that face so many times with Travis that it seemed second nature. She hated that she'd done so with Will. Still, he'd given her a lot to think about.

So, he was a "glorified traffic cop trainer." In spite of his lighthearted way of putting it, he had a pretty important position with the Department of Transportation. Policies came from somewhere, and federal traffic cops got their training from someone. If Will helped determine their training course, then he likely had experience with martial arts and self-defense.

Maybe he could teach her? For a few moments as she ran a bubble bath and settled into the hot water, she envisioned the two of them on the beach, him training her as they spent hours laughing and growing closer. The problem was that her daydreams always ended one place: with her in his arms as he kissed her like she'd never really been kissed before.

Sitting up in the bathtub, Noelle blinked that vision away. She could _not_ become that attached to Will Brandt. In three or four weeks, he'd go back to the East Coast, back to his job with the Department of Transportation, back to his life. And she'd be left in a beach house with a broken heart—again. No, better to allow him to put distance between them than to allow herself fall for him.

Letting the water out of the bathtub, Noelle dried and dressed for bed. She planned to paint her bedroom the next day, with the bathroom being done on Sunday. That way, when she went back to work on Monday, she'd have all the interior painting complete. She knew that Will wouldn't return until Monday. He had said as much that evening, preferring to leave her to herself over the weekend rather than crowding her. Right now, she appreciated the distance.

In the spare bedroom where she'd piled her clothes on the bed in neat stacks until she could get a dresser for her room, she quickly pulled out her paint clothes and eyed the closet. It wasn't that big, and she hadn't really done more than sweep out the corners since she moved in. Now, she began to wearily put clothes on hangars and hang them up. She was tired, but she also wanted to feel settled for the first time in months. And she wouldn't with her clothes spread everywhere.

Sighing at the headache that had begun to form as she tried to figure out her own thoughts, Noelle rolled her head around on her shoulders and made a discovery that changed the course of her entire life.

oOo

Will spent most of Friday night staring at the ceiling and arguing with himself over the cover story he'd given to Noelle. It wasn't the first time he'd used that cover, and it came in handy when his neighbors got a little too nosy—which they rarely did. This was the first time, however, that he'd thought twice about it.

Finally, around three in the morning, he decided not to worry about it. This was the life he'd knowingly signed up to live when he joined IMF, and Noelle was probably better off not knowing what he really did. Besides, just because they'd known each other as kids did not mean they'd become anything more than good friends now. Will knew the danger of that, and he had absolutely no intention of ever putting Noelle through the stress of his life.

After that decision, he drifted to sleep. The phone woke him, and he grabbed it without looking at the caller ID. This was his personal phone, and the specific ringtone that indicated something was wrong hadn't sounded. "'lo?"

"Will?" Noelle's voice sounded hesitant. "I woke you, didn't I?"

"Yeah." Will rolled onto his back to glare at his watch. _Ten in the morning?_ "It's okay, though," he added as he rubbed his eyes. The sun poured through the windows and warmed the foot of his bed. It made his entire position—lying on his back under warm covers—even more enjoyable. "What's up?"

"Um. . .it's really nothing." Noelle seemed rather embarrassed. "I'll let you get back to sleep."

"Noelle?" He waited until he knew she hadn't hung up. "It's really okay. I needed to get up."

"Well, I found the entrance to the attic."

Will could almost see her biting the inside of her lip. "Have you been up there yet?"

"Yes?" The question told him she'd done her own exploring. "I didn't open but one box, and it was a bunch of books. But when I realized it was more than empty boxes, I thought I'd call and ask if I could go through them. I don't have a TV, and I like to read, and. . . ."

"Give me thirty minutes; I'll be over." He cut off the rambling explanation, both enjoying the sound of her voice and wondering why she'd feel so bad for satisfying her curiosity. As a spy, nothing was sacred to him—not really. He had his secrets, but even those had been documented and classified. He tried to keep those things private. But sometimes, those secrets got out. Ethan's confrontation in Dubai had been a prime example.

As a result, he honestly wasn't upset with Noelle for prying. He'd have done the same thing.

Noelle hung up a few moments later, apologizing again. Will shook his head as he climbed from bed. In spite of his night-long angst-fest, he'd managed to rest rather well. His stomach growled, reminding him it had been quite a few hours since lasagna at the beach house, and he called downstairs to see if Greta had anything to pack up in a box. She agreed to his request and, within twenty minutes, Will had left the B&B behind while munching on one of Greta's amazing homemade donuts.

Noelle met him at the door of the beach house, wearing a knee-length denim skirt that had seen better days and a tired high school t-shirt. Her hair, which she kept tucked up in a bun most of the time, hung over one shoulder as she waited for him to park and come up to the house. He offered the box as he did so. "Greta packed way too many donuts for me."

Noelle laughed. "She does that. Come in, and I'll make a fresh pot of coffee."

"That would be wonderful." Will glanced around, smelling paint. "Bedroom or bathroom today?"

"Bedroom." Noelle spoke over her shoulder as she fiddled with the coffee pot. "I'm debating on whether to tackle the bathroom tomorrow or wait until next week. I really need bedroom furniture, and there's a consignment store near Walmart I want to go to. They might have something I'd like."

While coffee brewed, they debated the pros and cons of her shopping trip. As soon as the coffee pot finished, though, Noelle poured a fresh cup and fixed it with cream and sugar, handing it over with a smile. She added more to her cup, drinking it black and surprising him. She hadn't struck him as a coffee drinker when they first met.

"So," he began after he tasted that first sip and enjoyed a second donut with Noelle, "where are the books?"

"Still in the attic." Noelle shrugged. "As soon as I realized it was personal items up there, I called you."

He nodded. "Let's get them down, then. I have no idea what's in them, but there should be something good in those boxes."

She narrowed her eyes. "Didn't your grandmother like to read?"

"Yeah, she did." Will stood still for a moment, suddenly transported nineteen years into the past. On his last visit to the beach house, he'd seen his grandmother sitting on the deck with a book in her hand. She'd loved the classics: Jane Austen, Emily Brontë, and the like.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want." Noelle's statement dragged him out of his thoughts.

He shook his head. "It's okay. I was just. . .thinking. I hadn't thought about Grandma liking books in. . . ." It had been years since he remembered something pleasant about his grandparents.

Noelle nodded and continued to the room, where she'd set up a ladder to get into the attic. The bed was piled with clothes, a few on hangers and the others arranged in neat piles. He didn't look too closely, preferring to focus on what was in the attic. After steadying the ladder for Noelle to climb up, he followed and found her hunched over in the dim attic while opening a decades-old box filled to the brim with books.

A smile touched his face. He remembered these. Back when he'd been a kid, they'd been lovingly displayed on beautiful bookcases in the living room. The bookcases had likely gone to his grandfather's house after his grandmother's death, but the books stayed here. It made him wonder what else was in the attic.

For a time, Will allowed Noelle to poke through the books while he circled the rest of the room. It was a small attic, not one meant to store much more than a few boxes and some clothes. So none of the furniture he remembered remained. But he did find a stand-alone mirror he recalled, as well as another box filled with books. Some of them had been contemporary novels in his grandmother's time, but a good portion of them were quite old.

He turned to find Noelle sitting in a patch of sunlight, reading. Piles of books surrounded her, and she had a smear of dust across one cheek. But she reverently turned the page, her face glowing as she read the story.

"Find something good?" Will asked.

She jumped, slamming the book closed. "Just. . .a favorite of mine."

He motioned to the boxes. "Well, look, it's just the two of us. But I think we can get the boxes down without any trouble. And there's that mirror over there if you want it down as well."

Noelle followed the direction he pointed and nodded. "That would be great. Thank you."

They spent the next hour figuring out how to get the heavy boxes down from the attic. In the end, Noelle stayed in the attic and dragged the boxes over to the opening, where Will balanced them as they slid down the ladder like a child's slide. It took a lot of maneuvering to keep from dumping the entire box that was opened, and he did wind up using a box as a shield as one set of books rained down from above. Noelle laughed in delight, and he glared playfully back at her. But, before lunch time, they had managed to get the mirror into her bedroom unbroken, and the boxes of books were stacked against one wall in the living room.

Since he was there, Will decided to continue working on painting the outside of the house. And Noelle went back to her bedroom. She'd taken down the curtains over the windows in order to paint, and he caught sight of her working every now and then. Once, she offered him a smile, and he waved. But they didn't talk again for most of the day.

All that changed when he heard the sound of someone drive up to the house and stop. Noelle had gone to greet the newcomer, so Will kept painting. He'd trained himself to listen to conversations around him out of a need to know his surroundings, but he honestly tried to keep from eavesdropping this time. He failed miserably, though, when he heard Noelle telling whoever had come that he needed to leave. Figuring he'd be within his rights to intervene, Will climbed down the ladder, wiped his hands on a rag, and rounded the corner.

He came face to face with Travis Gilbertson, Noelle's ex-husband.

oOo

Had the windows not been open to help drag the paint fumes from the house, Noelle would never have heard the truck pull to a stop outside. And things would have gotten much worse. As it was, she glared at her ex as he climbed out of his truck and looked around. Thankfully, Will had finished the front of the house, so it no longer looked as pathetic as it had when she first rented the place. To Noelle, the house was perfect from Day One. To Travis, it would never measure up.

Then, he looked at her. "What are you doing?"

"Painting." Noelle added a note of "duh" to her tone. "Why are you here?"

"Give you this." Travis held up an envelope that likely held her alimony check.

Noelle left the front porch, walking over to snatch the envelope from his fingers. She'd check it later for accuracy and decide whether or not she needed to report it. "I thought things were tight this month."

"They loosened up." Travis made a show of studying the house. "Beach house. Nice!"

"Yes, it is. And it's my home, so I'll ask you to leave."

"Oh, come on, Noelle. We haven't seen each other in. . .what? Six months?"

_Too soon in my opinion._ Noelle glared at him. "We're divorced, Travis. And I live here. You had to drive well out of your way to come up here. So, now that you've seen where I'm at, you can get in your truck and _leave_."

"Is that the lake?" Travis pointedly ignored her words. If it were any other man, she would have thought he'd become easily distracted. But Travis had a way of saying things as if to prove he would do what _he_ wanted. "I didn't think you made enough money for a house on the lake. So, what else are you doing?"

Noelle's jaw dropped open at the insinuation. "Excuse me?"

Travis whirled to face her. "You've gotta have some sort of options. There's _no way_ you're paying for this house from a job in this town. Now, what is it? And why didn't you just stay in Chicago?"

"I _wanted_ to leave Chicago for _years_! You know that!" Noelle refused to back down from the argument, not when Travis stood in _her_ yard. "And, unless you've forgotten, my position was downsized. I _lost_ my job!"

He snorted. "Never were smart enough to keep it."

Tears started to form in her eyes, and she pointed at the truck. "That's it! Leave before I call the cops!"

"And what? Tell the backward sheriff here in Podunktown that your husband is harassing you?"

"_Ex_-husband," Noelle replied, emphasizing the first syllable. "As in, we're divorced, I don't want to see you, and you're invading my home. Leave!"

"No."

Noelle glared, not entirely sure what to do. Travis had never been this belligerent before, leading her to believe something had happened to change him.

Then, Will walked around the corner. Noelle wanted to heave a deep sigh of relief, but she restrained herself due to the way Travis smirked. To his credit, Will merely looked curious as he wiped his hands on a rag. "Everything okay here?"

Travis frowned at Will. "Who's this?"

When Will glanced at Noelle, she decided introductions were in order. "My landlord, William Brandt. Will, my ex-husband, Travis Gilbertson, who was just _leaving_."

"Landlord, huh?" Travis turned his back to Noelle, completely dismissing her as he placed himself between her and Will. "So, you're the one sleeping with my wife."

Will dropped his hands to his sides, tucking the rag back into his pocket as Noelle watched the transformation. His position never changed, but something indefinable shifted. "We're not sleeping with each other, and she rented my house. I'm here doing repairs." He never looked away from Travis. "Now, I've heard Ms. Blake ask you to leave no less than five times. I suggest you leave."

"Suggest?" Travis scoffed, glancing over his shoulder. "Noelle, where'd you find him?"

Will simply stared at him.

Noelle decided now was the best time to intervene. Will trained federal traffic cops in self defense and likely had at least one black belt in some sort of martial art. Travis had bravado. No matter who won, this could end badly for all of them if Travis didn't leave soon. "Travis, please. Just go."

"Oh, no, I'm having too much fun!" Travis snickered as he went back to the staring contest with Will. He took a few steps forward, invading Will's personal space. "Let me tell you all about your new girlfriend, Brandt. You see that innocent look there? It's a fake. She's really. . . ."

"I asked you to leave," Will interrupted what would likely have been another tirade against Noelle. "If you go now, I won't file trespassing charges."

Travis laughed again. "Trespassing?" His grin disappeared. "You have no idea who you're dealing with."

"Nor do you," Will replied.

The next several moments were tense as Noelle watched the two men stand nose to nose. Will's position never shifted in spite of Travis's posturing, leaving her ex-husband overconfident in his position. He stood a couple inches taller than Will and worked out on a regular basis. Noelle had seen him put one of his brothers on his back with one punch, but something in Will's stance told her this just might be different. He'd loosened up, for lack of a better term. And his face had gone carefully blank.

Travis narrowed his eyes. "So are you? Sleeping with her? Or are you just the help like she says?"

Will lifted his chin slightly. "Who Noelle sleeps with—or doesn't sleep with—is her business. As I've said, I'm the landlord. This is my property and her home. So, unless you've been invited to stay, you really should leave."

"Or what? You'll make me?"

Noelle knew what Travis was trying to do. He wanted to goad Will into a fight so he could cause even more problems. But Will just gave him an unimpressed stare.

Noelle stepped forward, putting a hand on Travis's arm. "Leave, please." She hated the almost pleading tone in her voice. But she really did not want to deal with Travis or Will after a fight. She knew Travis would cause even more problems, and she didn't know Will enough to even guess at what he'd do. Someone needed to be the adult in this situation and, in spite of Will's best efforts to be one, that person had become her.

Travis sneered at Will. "This isn't over."

Will didn't respond beyond raising an eyebrow. His expression clearly told everyone he'd look forward to pounding Travis into his place.

Travis glared at Noelle. "I'll be back next month with your check. Make sure your guard dog's on a leash." He gave Will a significant glance before he stomped to his truck and climbed in, gunning the engine and sending gravel flying as he pulled out of the driveway.

Noelle turned to see Will finally relaxing. He closed his eyes, likely to hide the fact he wanted to roll them, and shook his head. But the encounter had ruined her day. Travis didn't make promises he didn't keep—unless it was to his wife. Still, when it came to being heavy-handed and aggressive with her, he usually followed through on his threats. If he said he'd be back next month, then he'd show up next month. The problem wasn't that she couldn't get rid of him. Travis would stagger his visits, just so she couldn't know when he'd appear.

As soon as the truck disappeared, Will moved to Noelle's side. He gently took her elbow, frowning when she pulled away. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just. . . ." She stared up at him, seeing genuine concern on his face. Her hands shook, and she wanted nothing more than to cry. But she wouldn't, not with Will around. As she'd told Travis, he was her landlord. As much as she wanted to consider him a friend, she didn't know him well enough to let him see beneath the surface. "I just need some time. Okay?"

Will's hand dropped to his side. He nodded. "Okay. Just let me clean up the mess I made out back."

Noelle let him go, hating herself and her ex-husband for destroying the day. Right now, she wanted to let Will be the hero. But what would good would that do? It certainly wouldn't change Travis's actions any more than it would change the situation.

Within half an hour, Will left her alone. He stopped at the front door long enough to gently tell her to call if she needed _anything_. The serious expression in his eyes told her that he meant every word. Noelle promised to do so and watched as he pulled away. Then, when his car disappeared the same way that Travis's truck had, she dropped onto the edge of her couch and let the tears flow.

This was _not_ the weekend she'd had in mind.

~TBC


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Thanks to all of you who have reviewed! It's a relief to know that the story makes sense. :) Also, please keep in mind that this story takes place in that eight-week timelapse at the end of the movie. The final scene hasn't happened yet.

**Gingerjam:** I'm glad you're enjoying the story! I use original characters a lot, whether as main characters or not, simply because they're easy to come by. But I do understand—and agree with you—about the danger of an OC. So, I'm glad you're liking Noelle.

All that said, hope you all enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Will understood Noelle's desire to be alone. He'd seen the way Travis's words affected her and felt an instinctive urge to just pound the idiot into the ground. But he'd managed to refrain. An IMF agent beating a civilian to a pulp did not look good, no matter what the cover story, and Travis hadn't given Will enough cause to justify the actions.

But he would give Will enough cause if he showed up again.

Shaking his head at that utterly irrational thought, Will drove back to the B&B and took a long, hot shower. He'd made decent progress on the house that day, though not as much as he would have liked. Now, he had the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday to fill. Before coming to Ephraim, he'd never had to worry about free time. There were always reports to write, cases to analyze, and relaxing to do. Now, he had nothing except time to think.

What were Ethan, Jane, and Benji doing right now? He couldn't be sure they even thought about him as anything more than the troublesome agent-turned-analyst who had questioned their actions during the mission. But, somehow, they'd become the only friends he really had. Never mind that it was dumb luck that they actually succeeded. Never mind that he'd needed Benji's help to get the power turned back on at the relay room. Never mind that he was responsible for the death of Ethan's wife. Somewhere along the way, the eclectic group had managed to help Will in ways he didn't fully understand.

Could he help Noelle like that? Did she want him to help her like that? The second question mattered because Will would be there for her no matter what she desired. But she'd been on her own for a while and, based on the way Travis had treated her, she needed to make her own decisions. For women like Noelle, independence was crucial.

Sighing deeply as he climbed out of the shower and dried, Will decided it was time to do a bit of traveling. He left the B&B after telling Axel Wolff that he wouldn't be back until the next evening and turned the car south. He wasn't certain just where he'd end up, but he figured the time away would give him something to do besides think. And he desperately needed to stop thinking.

oOo

Noelle chose to go shopping on Sunday. After Travis's visit, she'd fought with the urge to climb in her van and disappear. She no longer needed his alimony checks to survive with her job, but the court had ordered them. Still, if it meant dealing with him for one more minute, she'd happily give up the money in order to be free of him.

It had taken her ten years to get out of that relationship. Part of that was her own stupidity. She'd believed she could change him. But Travis ruled with an iron tongue. He never hit her, but he didn't mind slicing her to pieces with his words. Between that and his multiple affairs, Noelle had started believing what he said about her: she was worthless and unsatisfying in every sense of the word.

But Will didn't treat her that way.

Noelle rolled her eyes at her thoughts as she stopped at the consignment shop she'd mentioned to Will. As she wandered the narrow aisles looking for furniture in her price range, she thought about her landlord. Other than touching her elbow the previous day, he'd made no other overtures toward her outside of friendship. More often than not, _she_ had to ask him to stay for dinner or join her for coffee, and he was always very careful to avoid the topics caused tension. That didn't necessarily mean anything, though, and she knew it. Some guys, like Will Brandt, were naturally considerate of everyone around them. They treated every person with respect unless that person proved unworthy of their esteem.

By Monday, Noelle had managed to purchase and arrange for delivery of a matching chest of drawers and dresser for her bedroom. With the walls now sporting a light gray color, the rich cherry wood would look fabulous. She'd also found a bedspread and matching pillows to give the room a luxurious look. The colors—slate blue, gray, and copper—went with the old iron bed frame so well that it looked almost intentional.

Greta met Noelle at the door, somewhat out of breath and smiling. "Good weekend?"

"No, but that's okay." Noelle offered a tense smile and went to work. At lunch time, she settled at a table with Greta while the older woman prepared a cup of tea. Greta's face was pale, and she'd started sweating in spite of the coolness of the day. Noelle frowned. "Are you okay?"

Greta waved aside her concern. "I'm fine." She met Noelle's eyes. "I heard you had a visitor Saturday."

Noelle blinked. "How'd you know about that?"

"Honey, this is a small town. People talk."

"Oh." Noelle shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "My ex showed up with this month's check. He just wanted to start trouble."

"And did he?"

"I don't know." Noelle leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the table and using the heels of her hands to rub her eyes. Thankfully, she wore very little makeup, or it would have created quite the mess. "My landlord was there, and Travis tried to start something with him."

"Honey, here's my advice, whether you want it or not." Greta met her eyes. "It doesn't matter what happened between the Hayes and the Blakes. You seem to be able to look past all that, and I'm glad. If Will Brandt wants to help you out, let him. Because, frankly, you could use a man around that house next time that good-for-nothin' comes calling."

Noelle wanted to argue, but she knew better. She _did_ need someone around. If it hadn't been for Will's timely intervention, she and Travis would have ended up in a yelling match that would have disturbed the entire town. "It's not that easy, Greta. In a couple weeks, Will's going back East, and Travis said he'd be here next month." She sighed. "I'm thinking about a restraining order or something."

Greta nodded and stood. She huffed as she walked away and disappeared into the kitchen for a moment. When she returned, she had a list of names. Hers was at the top. "Travis ever shows up again and young Will Brandt's not there, call one of us. Start at the top an' work down. Even if the men can't help, us women know how to work a shotgun."

The offer was said so seriously that Noelle burst into laughter. She accepted the piece of paper, however, and tucked it into a pocket for later. "Thanks, Greta."

Greta's eyes shifted to the door, and Noelle looked up to see Will wander in, tired and a bit rumpled. The elderly restaurant owner smiled. "Now, enjoy a long lunch with that friend of yours and don't worry about anything else. If he's a good friend, he'll understand."

Noelle couldn't stop the older woman from leaving the table and found she didn't want to. Will met her eyes from across the room, and she motioned for him to join her. He wove through the tables and sat down, exhaustion radiating off every bit of him. Noelle smiled. "Long weekend?"

"Yeah." He met her eyes again, his blue gaze curious. "How are you?"

"Better." Noelle nudged a menu his direction. "I'm buying lunch."

Will had leaned back into the chair, and he now sat up as he perused the menu. "I won't argue if you'll let me cover dinner tonight." Then, he stopped and looked at her. "Not a date. Just. . .I figured we could talk about what happened and work out what to do next time."

Noelle saw the sincerity on his face. She thought over what Greta had just said. "I'd like that. Besides, I was kinda glad you were there Saturday."

"Noelle, I won't hold back if he attacks." Will pushed aside the menu. "I decided that sometime yesterday. If he gets physical with me, I'll put him on the ground."

She nodded. "Maybe that's what he needs," she admitted softly. "Will, you're a friend. I trust you as such. Right now, the only friends I have other than you are. . . ." She glanced around at the room filled with mostly retired folk. "Greta already threatened to bring the shotgun out if none of the men were available."

The serious expression faded from Will's face as he imagined that. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."

They shared a quiet lunch, with Will admitting he'd done more driving in the last twenty-four hours than anything else. Noelle finally sent him up to his room to rest as she finished out her day. Then, she went home and waited. Will had promised to bring the fixings for dinner, and she'd suddenly begun to wonder if maybe this was better. She and Will didn't have a romantic connection, though it could easily have turned that way. They simply knew each other's limits and tried to support one another. Maybe this "relationship," such as it was, could work for both of them.

As he pulled up, she decided to just wait and see.

oOo

Noelle had added a few pieces of furniture to the beach house. Will noticed them the moment she opened the door and took the grocery bags from his hands. The living room now sported a rather elegant coffee table, antique-looking trunks for end tables, and lamps. The boxes of books waited in one corner, though one book now lay on the coffee table with a bookmark in it.

In the kitchen, Noelle started pulling the ingredients for steaks from the bags. Will followed her, explaining that he'd man the grill tonight. Both of them preferred a quiet dinner on the back deck over the restaurant with well-meaning but nosy neighbors, and she didn't mind admitting she wasn't up for cooking. They shucked fresh corn, buttered it, and wrapped it in foil while the charcoal heated, and Will seasoned the steaks with a custom mix he'd learned from his mother. The entire time, Noelle made mashed potatoes—her contribution at her insistence—and prepared a salad. The meal would leave both of them with leftovers for several days.

Will carried the steaks onto the back deck and added them to the small hibachi, smiling as they sizzled. There was nothing quite like the smell of steak on a grill. A cool breeze came off the lake, carrying the scent of a nearby marina with it and ruffling his hair. He needed this evening as much as Noelle. He needed to assure her that he would always help her as much as possible. Going back to the East Coast wouldn't change that.

Noelle joined him on the deck before he could pursue that line of thought much further. Somewhere along his drive, he'd decided that keeping things friendly with Noelle was his only option. He couldn't open her up to the risk of a romantic relationship, not when so much could go wrong. If she wasn't targeted just for her connection to him, then he could put her through just as much by being injured or killed in the field. She stood the same risks if they were friends, but not to the extent that a romance caused. Besides, based on what he'd seen with Travis, she really didn't want a romance. What she _needed_ was a friend she could trust.

Will resolved to be that friend.

Dinner passed with light conversation, neither one wanting to bring up the inevitable topic. But Will knew they couldn't avoid it forever, not with the encounter with her ex so recent. She still smiled tensely at odd times, and Will let her clean up the dishes rather than trying to help. It was taking every bit of his training as an analyst and agent to make his point to her, but he'd happily use whatever resource he had at his disposal. _Get close to the target and see his or her needs fulfilled to gain trust._ He'd used that tactic on more than one occasion in his work for the IMF, and he realized why it was so effective. It built a bond of friendship.

Finally, Noelle couldn't avoid the topic any longer. She stepped onto the back patio with a sweater in her hands, offering him another tense smile. "Can we walk? I just. . .don't want to sit still."

"Sure." Will let her lead the way off the deck and toward the beach, falling into step with her as she turned them toward Peninsula State Park. "Noelle, you know I'm going to ask about Travis."

She nodded. "Yeah. I knew the minute he showed up that you'd ask."

"I don't need to know everything. Just what you're facing each time he comes here."

She chuckled, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Basically, what you saw. He's forced his way into my home before and refused to leave until I or a neighbor called the cops."

"So why haven't you gotten a restraining order?"

She stared at him helplessly. "I really did love him, and I still care. But I can't live with him."

Will faced her. He'd always heard of women in abusive situations saying things like this, and he'd never understood it. "It's _your_ home, Noelle. Not his. _Your_ life, not his. He _never_ had a right to control you, and he certainly doesn't now."

"I know." She visibly gathered her resolve. "It's just. . .I've never put my foot down before, and I don't know what he'd do."

"Any idea when he'll be back?" When she gave him a sharp glance, he shrugged. "Because I can be around and back you up."

"I wish I knew." She shook her head. "Will, I was young and dumb when I met Travis. All I wanted was to come back home, to the one place I felt accepted. And he made me feel that way. I could ignore his teasing about my name because he made me feel important and like I was part of something."

"What changed?"

"We got married." She rolled her eyes. "His parents were supportive, as were mine. We had our troubles in the beginning, but what marriage doesn't? And we worked through it. Then, he started this new job that paid great, and he suddenly wanted me to go by my middle name. The house had to be perfect, and anything less than what he wanted caused a massive argument. I usually ended up in a puddle because he'd hit this point where he would just. . . ."

Will didn't need her to finish the statement. He'd seen Travis's derision for himself. Instead of asking about it, he walked next to her and let her take the time she needed.

"Then, he started working long hours." Noelle shook her head. "I believed him. He would miss dinner but get upset if I didn't cook one night, not notice that I hadn't vacuumed or swept one day and come down hard the next. It was this rollercoaster ride, one that got easier when he worked overtime or traveled on business. Every six months or so, he'd work a lot of overtime. And then he'd be back to himself. Then, he'd work more 'overtime,' and then back. For _ten years_, he did this to me.

"I figured out around the third time he worked 'overtime' what was going on. I'd believed him and called his office to check in. They said he left early that day. For a meeting." She snorted. "When he got home that night, I tried to tell him he wasn't sleeping in my bed. That's the closest he's ever come to hitting me."

"And how long ago was that?"

"Six years." She glanced at Will. "We've been divorced for two."

He nodded. "What changed? I mean, why'd you finally leave after ten years?"

"He kicked me out of the house over ruining his meal." She stopped and stared over Lake Michigan. "He'd 'worked late,' and I thought he'd eat dinner with his girl. But he didn't and expected me to fix something for him when he came home. So, I did. But I was so angry by this time that I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing." She held out her hand, pointing at a slightly shiny spot on her arm. "I dropped the pot of spaghetti noodles and burned myself. Rather than being concerned over the fact that I was hurting so badly I was in tears, he told me that if I couldn't even cook like a decent wife, then I should just get out. I figured that he wanted me out of his life, so I filed for divorce the next morning.

"I'd been wanting to do it for a long time. Believe me, I'd wanted to do it!" She ran a hand through her hair. "But there was more going on than just our issues."

"I'm sure," Will murmured. There were always more issues than just one in a relationship like that. His mind immediately went to the frequent business trips, and he stopped himself from filling in the blanks. For all he knew, they were legitimate trips.

"My parents were going through a rough patch financially, and my sister and her husband were constantly bickering." Noelle shrugged. "I figured they didn't need to know that Travis and I were falling apart. No one did. It was _our_ problem to work out. And I know that it wasn't as bad as other relationships. I mean, there are women out there afraid for their lives and the lives of their children. Thank _God_ I never had to worry about that, but I didn't feel like I had a right to make our issues public when there was so much else going on."

Will touched her elbow, encouraged when she simply looked at him and didn't turn away. "You had every right," he said softly. "No woman should ever be treated that way, I don't care what she has or hasn't done."

Tears filled her eyes, and she nodded. "Thanks." She wiped at her tears. "So, I filed for divorce. I never in a million years thought it would cause so many problems."

Will frowned. "Why would it?"

"I was married, and it was for life. According to my parents, anyway." Noelle shrugged. "Never mind that, no matter what culture, infidelity is frowned upon. I'd been faithful to him for ten years, and he'd done nothing but treat me like a piece of trash while lavishing what should have been mine on women younger and prettier than me. You know what he told me one time? That I didn't deserve it! That I needed to lose weight and get a lot prettier before I'd ever deserve what he gave those women."

Will suddenly wished Travis would appear in front of him just so he could wipe the beach with the guy. "He was wrong." He looked Noelle in the eyes. "Look, this isn't a come on or anything, but you're a beautiful woman. And nothing he said about you is true."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm hoping to believe you one day."

Will took a deep breath, licking his lips as a way to stop the anger that wanted to come out. "So, you left, got a job, and supported yourself."

"Until three-and-a-half months ago when my job was downsized, yes."

"You've done a great job." He met her eyes again. "And this is _your_ home. No one, not even me, has the right to kick you out or force his way into it."

"You have the right." Noelle smiled as tension started to fade from her face. "You're my landlord."

"No." Will shook his head. "If you weren't paying your rent or some such thing, then yes. But, based on what I've seen, you're caring for the house, keeping it up, and paying your bills on time. I don't even have the right to force my way in without an invitation. The only exception I'll make is if there's trouble here."

This time, she reached out and touched his arm. "Thanks, Will. It really means a lot."

He smiled at that. She spent the next hour telling him about Travis, how they met, and how her family had responded to their divorce. Ironically, as much as they'd condemned Noelle for her actions, her sister still left her husband for another man. Now, her judgmental parents were left without any children because they had cut off both girls. Will hoped the Blakes realized what they had done before it was too late and then sighed. He had personal experience with people like that. After all, he'd been disowned at his mother's graveside.

They finally walked back to the beach house, both of them in a pensive mood. The sun had fully set, leaving twilight to creep over the area. Noelle relaxed after telling him the story, and Will let his mind wander to any number of ways he could keep Travis from coming back. Unfortunately, all of them included tracking the man down and putting the fear of Will Brandt into him. And, due to his job with the IMF, he couldn't always be around. Besides, Noelle had asked him to let it go. He'd promised with the proviso that they'd figure out a way to keep Travis at bay from now on—one that worked and wouldn't cause damage to either people or houses. At this moment, though, Will was at a loss.

He felt Noelle tense up before he saw what caused it. Then, a smile touched his features. A figure stood on the back deck of her house, watching them approach from the beach. In the fading light, Will barely made out that crazy plaid shirts and short red hair. He put a hand on Noelle's back, where their visitor couldn't see. "He's a friend."

She gave him a skeptical look. "He's on the deck."

"I know." Will narrowed his eyes as they finally entered speaking range. "Benji. Wasn't expecting to see you."

"Well, you know. . . ." The Englishman motioned over his shoulder. "I didn't go through the house or anything. Just figured you were out walking and decided to wait."

Noelle pulled herself together admirably at that, though Benji's awkwardness probably had a bit to do with it. Will saw the way her face settled slightly and motioned. "Benji, this is Noelle Blake, a friend of mine from when we were kids. Noelle, Benji Dunn."

"Hello." Benji shook her hand. "Love what you've done with the place."

Noelle smiled. "It's a joint effort." She glanced at Will. "Want some iced tea?"

Will nodded. "Sure." As she slipped inside, he turned to Benji. "What're you doing here?"

"Two things." Benji watched Noelle go. "Ethan's asking for a meeting. Three weeks, in Seattle." He slipped a piece of paper into Will's hand with a date, time, and address written on it. Will immediately memorized it and made plans to destroy the paper. Benji met his eyes. "Secondly, we might have trouble."

Will glanced from Benji to Noelle and back. "What sort of trouble?"

"Remember I said your family finding out about your name was. . .you know, nothing to worry about?" When Will nodded, he sighed. "Well, I might have been wrong. I started going back through the IMF databases, and there was one person who accessed your file just after we got back from India."

"You're sure it wasn't anyone related to the IMF?" Will frowned. "After all, we were disavowed, and there's that whole trouble of bringing us back into existence."

"Wasn't like that." Benji shook his head. "Every person who had _legitimate_ access to your file has been accounted for. We're talking the new Secretary, Brassel, and everyone who needed to know. No, this came from _outside_ the IMF."

"Then why didn't IMF detect the breach in their database?"

"Because we're still trying to set it back up." Benji gave him a "duh" look. "What do you think I've been doing since we got back? Any time something like this happens, there's a window where people can get into our databases more easily than at any other. And, while it's unlikely that the typical hacker can get in, someone with skills _who knows about us_ can."

"How many people like that are out there?"

"Too many." Benji cut off whatever else he was going to say when Noelle returned to the porch with their tea. He accepted the glass she held out with a smile. "Thank you. And so sorry to invade like this."

She gave Will a glance that he correctly interpreted as a promise to talk with him later. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Dunn. You work for the DoT as well?"

"Yes." Benji smoothly slid into the cover story. "Will trains, and I just support. Technology, that sort of thing. Oh, and the computer systems. A friend of ours tracks patterns of traffic flow and such, and he likes his technology to function to the best of its ability."

Will barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. If he'd learned anything about Ethan, it was that the man could improvise with anything. "How is Ethan, by the way?" He sent a smile toward Noelle. "He was in a car accident a few weeks back."

Benji nodded. "Good. Going crazy as you'd expect."

"Of course."

Benji caught the awkwardness. _Better late than never_, Will supposed. "Well, I should be going. I'm staying at the B&B tonight, Will." He smiled at Noelle. "Thank you for the tea. And sorry again."

Noelle waved as he stepped off the porch and wandered back to the front of the house. She then turned to Will. "You work with him?"

"Yeah." Will narrowed his eyes. "Didn't know he'd find me here, though. I really am sorry."

The tension faded from her face. "It's okay, really. It just startled me to see someone on my deck. Especially after Travis."

Sensing she was being as truthful as possible, Will didn't apologize again. He did, however, promise to keep strange men from her deck. A few moments after Benji had left, he also waved goodbye and drove back to the bed and breakfast with his mind already working in overdrive.

Someone not connected to the IMF had accessed his file. Who? And why? Had his family's search led one of his enemies to him? And what would happen now that he'd formed a meaningful friendship with someone outside of his job?

The questions kept him awake late into the night.

~TBC


	7. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the late posting. It is still Monday here, but my daughter was out of school today. We got caught up running errands.

As always, hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Benji stayed in Ephraim for three days, sleeping at the B&B and giving Will a hand with painting. The entire time, he chattered about the "easy life" and "beach living" and how much he wished he had a beach house of his own. When Noelle was at work, the two men discussed the recent breach of the IMF database. But they _never_ talked about Ghost Protocol or the events surrounding it. After all, both of them had witnessed the near end of civilization as they knew it.

Benji wasn't sleeping well. Will saw the signs every morning and didn't say anything. How could he when he'd found a measure of peace by simply ignoring it all? Burying his head in the proverbial sand wasn't any healthier than Benji's method of coping, so he refused to start an argument.

Noelle managed to catch the men at her place on the second day, insisting both of them stay for dinner. Now that she was better prepared—and Will and Benji had worked out their cover story—the evening went well. Noelle found Benji's tales of England amusing, and Will had to admit the Englishman had had a much better upbringing. He'd spent his days terrorizing younger kids while Benji climbed trees, jumped in mud puddles, and played pranks on his brothers. When Noelle asked about his brothers, Benji clammed up, and she took the hint. All three of them had secrets, and they left things at that.

At the end of the night, she stuck out her hand. "Benji, it was a pleasure."

"Likewise." Benji's natural aplomb came to the fore, and he smiled as he slipped a piece of paper into her hand. "You need anything—_anything—_and Will's not around, call that number. We'll work it out."

Noelle smiled and nodded, pocketing the slip of paper as Will waved over his shoulder. Most of the work at the house was done, so he felt a little like _he_ was saying goodbye as well.

Benji glanced at him as soon as they left the beach house behind. "I like her."

Will rolled his eyes at the insinuation. "We're friends, Benji. Nothing more."

"I know, but. . . ." Benji grinned at him. "I still like her. You could do far worse."

"Are you matchmaking?" Will asked with mock exasperation. "Because I'll remind you that she has no idea what our job entails and is in danger with just friendship between us, let alone anything more."

"There is that." Benji sighed. "I'm heading back out tomorrow. Not that it's been bad or anything, but I need to get back."

"I understand." Will parked in "his" spot at the B&B. "I'll see you in Seattle?"

"Yep." Benji got out of the car and stuck out his hand. "Thanks. For, you know, putting up with me."

Will grinned. "You helped paint the house. I'm not complaining."

Benji nodded and started to leave. Then, he turned. "I gotta say this. I don't know what's between you and Ethan. I don't really care. I know things are tough after Croatia, but you should talk with him. Work it out 'cause you were a big help on this last case." He stood a bit awkwardly and then shrugged. "Just thought you should know."

Will stayed rooted in place as the other IMF agent trotted up the stairs and to his room. At least one person thought he'd helped, though he doubted whether that opinion would hold. Jane hadn't been too happy with him when he'd forced her to admit to being shot, and Ethan. . . .Well, Will's past with Ethan was complicated and heartbreaking.

The rest of the week after Benji's departure passed slowly. Will set about stripping the old paint from the deck in order to get it completed. He had just under three weeks left here, and he wanted the beach house in as good condition as he could get it before then. The last thing he wanted was for Noelle to call him with an emergency.

He also registered the house with a property management company in a nearby town and gave their number to Noelle. She understood, and they wound up sitting silently on her deck as the sun set. Will appreciated the friendship more than she knew and tried to return the favor. But as the time for his departure to Seattle approached, he found himself thinking more and more of Croatia and the events thereafter.

Should he tell Ethan? Or just quietly walk away and disappear back into IMF's offices? He had no problem with sharing that one secret with Ethan, but the timing had to be right. Perhaps, after Jane and Benji had left, he could find the courage to face Ethan's wrath. But the last thing he wanted was an angry explosion. Ethan Hunt wasn't known for losing his temper often, but he usually reacted pretty spectacularly when he did.

Noelle noticed the change. She found him on the back deck, staring over the lake as he again thought about his dilemma, and sat down next to him. "Waiting for rescue from the big bad deck?"

"What?" For just a moment, Will was confused. Then, he blinked. "Oh. No." Shaking his head at himself, he let out a laugh. "Just thinking."

"I noticed." She reached over and took the paintbrush from his hand. "You'll have this finished tonight and we won't be able to sit out here. So, tell me what's on your mind."

He stared at her. She sat comfortably on the deck, her legs tucked to one side as her long blond hair fell over one shoulder. Brown eyes waited patiently for him to explain why he'd been so morose lately, and a playful smile touched her lips. "It's. . .it's complicated."

"Most things usually are."

He blew out a breath. "Have you ever done something that had repercussions with someone else—serious repercussions—that you don't know how to fix?"

She blinked. "I got married," she said dryly. "Or, rather, I got divorced."

Will had to give her credit for the statement. "A few years back, I was on special assignment. With the kind of work I do, I tend to get sent out on investigations and such. Anyway, something went wrong, and a woman got killed. I was responsible. And, just a few weeks ago, I had to work with her husband."

"You said something went wrong. Your fault or out of your control?"

"Out of my control." He shook his head. "But that doesn't matter. I was responsible for everyone's safety during that investigation, and I failed." He set aside the brush with another sigh and stared at the half-painted deck. "I don't have a problem admitting I was responsible. But her husband works with the DoT as well. What happens next time we work together? If he finds out, can we do our jobs the way they should be done?"

Noelle reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Will. Stop overthinking this. Just talk to the guy. He might understand better than you know if he does the same thing you do."

"Yeah." Will rubbed his face and shook away the thoughts. "Sorry. It's just we have this big meeting coming up, and. . . ."

"I understand." She met his eyes. "But I get the feeling you won't tell me much more than what you already have. Otherwise I'd offer to listen."

He held her gaze. "Noelle, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She shrugged. "You work for the federal government. Even if it's related to traffic and transportation, there's probably a lot you can't tell me."

_More than you know._ He nodded. "Yeah. There is."

"I get that." She glanced at the paint. "But when it bugs you to the point it interrupts whatever you're doing, find someone to talk to. Even if you have to call."

He smiled at that. "I promise," he said softly.

"Good." She stood and snapped her fingers. "Now, back to work!"

Will saluted and finished up the deck. Noelle had fresh iced tea and baked sausage fettuccine waiting for him. He kept his thoughts at bay for the rest of the evening, choosing to focus on the friendship he shared with her. So it wasn't as romantic as he'd worried about when she first rented his house. He was okay with that. His line of work didn't exactly allow for romantic situations, and the ones that formed usually ended up like Hanaway and Jane or Julia and Ethan.

He dreamed of Croatia that night, of failing and witnessing Julia Hunt's death. He woke in a cold sweat, his stomach churning as his mind detailed the reality of what had been done to her. Rushing to the bathroom, he hovered over the toilet as his supper made a reappearance. Then, he took a long shower.

He'd never been given to severe angst, though he did stress over every call he made in the field. Still, his job required the ability to make that call and live with it, so he'd stopped overthinking things after the mission had been handed out. This time, he couldn't. Not when it was the mission that had taken him from the field in the first place.

His last three days in Ephraim were spent doing last-minute chores around the beach house and ignoring the way his stomach tightened each time he thought about meeting Ethan in Seattle. Finally, on his last night, he and Noelle shared dinner and then parted with a friendly smile. She somehow understood he wouldn't appreciate a hug, and he promised to be in touch soon. Then, the next morning, he drove to the airport and climbed onto a plane to Seattle.

_This_ was his life. Moving from place to place, living in secret, making up stories to convince people to tell him things they never had any intention of telling anyone. That was what made a good spy, and he'd been one of the better agents IMF had to offer. . .until Croatia. They already wanted him back as an analyst, and he'd picked up on the hints that the new Secretary had dropped about returning to the field. But he couldn't without talking with Ethan.

Finally, the night of the meet, he arrived at the docks and saw Benji and Jane loitering around. Walking in their direction, he was pleasantly surprised when Jane smiled at him and Benji shook his hand rather enthusiastically. The three of them wound their way through the shops until they spotted Ethan sitting at a table with a big African American. The big man laughed at something Ethan said and then stood in time to be introduced to "the firm of Carter, Dunn, and Brandt." Will felt himself slide easily into the role of "Brandt" and sat down across from Ethan as he let his personal life fade into the background.

Then, Ethan pulled out those phones. Will stared at them, one ear tuned to Benji's comments about no other mission being harder than the one they'd just endured. How wrong he was. Still, once Benji and Jane had picked up their phones and left, Will had nothing to do save walk away.

"Brandt." Ethan's voice stopped him.

Will glanced over. "I'm not picking up that phone, Ethan, because I don't think you want me in the field." He eyed the legendary agent. "I know your wife is dead. I was there in Croatia. I was there for one reason. One. And I failed. It was my job to protect her."

"How do you know she's dead?" Ethan's question and the ensuing conversation changed Will's life. As he learned how Ethan faked his wife's death and discovered the trust that Ethan had placed in him by revealing Julia was still alive, Will found himself unable to do anything but laugh. _It's either laugh or cry, and crying's out of the question._

He finally met Ethan's eyes. "When did you find out that I was in Croatia?"

"I pulled your file. After India."

"Right." Will nodded. "So you had to fake your wife's death."

"As long as we were together, she could never be safe," Ethan said regretfully. "It wasn't your job to protect her, Brandt." His gaze moved to a spot behind Brandt. "It's mine."

Will took a moment to think about that, to recognize that Ethan had used present tense in talking about protecting his wife. "Okay." He stuck out his hand. "So, we're good?"

"We're good." Ethan gave him a warm smile as he shook his hand.

Will stood and, after another moment of thought, picked up the phone. He would listen to the mission within the hour, but he still needed a few moments to compose himself and get his head in the right place. He was going back to work in the field, a decision that had been made in a moment because he no longer had a reason to refuse.

Julia Hunt was alive, and he wasn't responsible for her death. The weight he'd carried for years had just been taken from his shoulders, and he found himself breathing easier than he had in a very long time.

oOo

Will's departure was unassuming and friendly. Noelle watched him leave her house that final night, seeing him smile and wave, and knew he'd be back. It wasn't about their friendship or that he owned the house where she lived or anything like that. No, Will _needed_ Ephraim as much as his job needed him. He was committed to his work, and he clearly loved it in spite of the few minor trials he'd shared with her. But, somehow, she'd come to realize that the beach house was as much his refuge as it was her new home.

For the next several days, she went about her business and tried to ignore the slight tinge of sadness every time she arrived home. It had nothing to do with her feelings for Will, though she did care about him. Nor was she worried. She just missed the friendship. Over the last months, her life had become rather solitary, and she desperately needed his friendship as much as he'd needed hers. So, she threw herself into work, chatting with Greta, and in general trying to ignore the silence when Friday came around again.

One Saturday after Will left, Noelle decided to get out of the house again. She drove her van back to the consignment shop where she'd found her bedroom furniture and started browsing for bookshelves. She found several that would have suited her needs, but none of them really called out to her. Then, right as she turned to leave, she saw the perfect shelf: tall and worn with an air of elegance. The price was pretty steep, but she figured she could stand to spend a bit of money on it. After all, the next time she moved would require a truck rather than her van. She wanted to own as much of her furniture as possible so she didn't get stuck renting a fully furnished house—or one with nothing in it.

The bookcase just barely fit in the back of her van, and she was forced to call Axel for help unloading it. Greta tagged along with her husband, bringing out a plate full of snickerdoodles after Noelle let it slip that they were her favorite cookie. Within a few harrowing minutes, the bookshelf had been set in place while Greta cheerfully took over the kitchen to make tea and drag Noelle onto the back deck for a chat.

That night, after her bosses had left, Noelle went to work on the boxes of books that had cluttered the corner of her living room. Will had not mentioned them once except to say he was glad she could use them, and she refrained from worrying about whether it really was okay or not. He likely wouldn't have told her if it wasn't, but those books had been in the attic for years. No one had missed them thus far, and she doubted anyone would want them back now.

She'd already filled several shelves and had started on the second box when she found it. Tucked in between two well-kept Jane Austen novels, the brown leather book was so different from its companions that Noelle was immediately intrigued. The cover was worn smooth from the years, and a faded brown ribbon marked a place near the back. She opened it and began to read.

_We're at the lake house again. I've missed it here. The house is small, and the boys have to share a room. But I'm glad we came. I just needed to get away from the city, and Joseph thankfully agreed with me._

_Right now, I'm sitting on the back deck while the twins play catch on the beach. There's enough room that I can see them, and I doubt the neighbors have any problems with children. Joseph says they don't, but he's inside finishing up paperwork. It's always paperwork with him, and he says it puts food on the table. I know it does, but I can't help being a bit jealous over my husband's affections._

_But now I'm growing maudlin. And I have a meal to cook. I just couldn't wait to enjoy the fresh smell of the lake now that we're finally here. But duty calls, I suppose. And maybe, by the time supper's done, Joseph will be drawn away from his blueprints long enough to regal the boys with a story. Otherwise, they'll be stuck with their mother._

_Oh, it's so good to be here._

Noelle blinked. She'd found a journal? Flipping to the front of the book, she read the name. _Maryanne Hayes._ One of Will's relatives? Maybe his mother? No, he didn't have any siblings, but, if she remembered correctly, his uncles were twins. Could this be his _grandmother's_ journal?

Realizing it was too personal of a book to be reading, she set it aside and continued to stack the books on the shelf. She even went so far as to pick one of the Jane Austen novels that had sandwiched the journal just to get her mind off of the brown leather book. But the little she'd read—a lonely housewife of a bygone era hoping a vacation to the lake would return her husband's affections to her—resonated within her. She tried to push the story away, but it constantly came back to tickle her imagination.

She fell asleep that night picturing herself in that situation. Problem was, the only person she really wanted to fill the role of companion was Will Brandt, and she just couldn't see him as the uninterested type.

oOo

Someone had murdered an IMF analyst. Will watched from the sidelines, his cover as a DoT investigator in place, as forensics went over the crime scene with a fine-toothed comb. Amy Rastenburger had worked a few major cases for the IMF, and her cover was that she was a pencil-pusher for the Department of Transportation.

Will sighed. When he'd picked up the phone that Ethan presented him in Seattle, he'd expected another hair-raising mission on foreign soil. Not something like this.

_Your mission, should you choose to accept it. . . ._ He barely kept himself from snorting. Of course he'd accepted it. The new Secretary knew exactly what he was doing by assigning this mission to him. He'd worked as an analyst long enough to understand their mentality while still maintaining a field agent's ability to do what needed doing. That dichotomy—and his penchant for thinking like an analyst—had caused no small amount of grief in Dubai as he tried to control every aspect of their mission. Now, he figured it was time to reconcile the two sides of William Brandt.

Was this related to the recent breach in IMF's database? Will had no doubt that Benji had been assigned that case. The Englishman had proven his mettle as an agent in India, combining his technical prowess with physical training to stop a nuclear missile. Even now, Will could still hear Benji's relieved babbling as they waited anxiously for news from Ethan. The adrenaline rush of stopping the missile and killing Winstrom had left Benji needing to talk in order to stay awake.

Dragging his mind back to the matter at hand, Will listened to the forensics team and agreed to wait patiently for the results. IMF had taken over jurisdiction, however, and those reports would arrive on Will's desk much sooner than if they'd gone through normal channels.

He sighed as the crime scene emptied. This wasn't a single mission that could be completed inside of a few days. This was an investigation with all the ups and downs of one. Unfortunately, in investigations like this, things stalled out before he found solutions. He was facing a marathon and knew that, if they didn't find a lead soon, it would take another death to further him along. Besides, outside of a relationship gone wrong, why would anyone want to kill a pencil-pusher for the DoT? An analyst for the IMF, however, made a much more enticing target, particularly if said analyst had arranged a mission that angered someone very powerful.

Returning to his Washington, DC cubicle, Will settled behind the desk and proceeded to wipe a layer of dust off of everything there. Someone had arranged his things almost exactly as they'd been before Ghost Protocol. They'd positioned his pens to the right of the desk rather than the left, but he could handle changing that up. Still, except for the dust, it looked like he'd never left even if this was a new office.

After a small bit of rearranging, he called up Amy Rastenburger's file and started going through her life. She'd lived quietly, never once missing a beat when the IMF was disavowed. She'd saved up quite a large amount of money, but Will found nothing that indicated she'd been working for someone other than the IMF. Just careful money management and a single life. He knew what that felt like. Amy handled low to mid-level cases, usually passing her work through a superior or, on one occasion, him to see it turned into a mission. The two exceptions involved cases before Will's time as an analyst. And she had a thing for cats. Not real cats as she was allergic to them, but her apartment and desk were covered with her favorite animal. She'd favored the leopard and jaguar specifically.

With forensics running on her murder scene, Will spent the rest of the week sorting through her cases. Amy hadn't been recalled to active duty after Ghost Protocol simply because she'd been on vacation when it happened. She'd been murdered shortly after returning home. The IMF had learned of her death through local police after one of her neighbors asked for a wellbeing check. Apparently, Amy often visited her elderly neighbors and had missed several check-ins. Whether that was due to traveling or her demise, he couldn't be sure.

It took forty-eight hours for forensics to come back on Amy's murder scene, and Will sat up in his chair as he read it. Not one ounce of forensic evidence was found. There was plenty of blood splatter where she'd been shot, but the bullet had gone through her. Whoever killed her had dug it from the wall and policed his brass. And wiped down the entire place. Not even Amy's fingerprints had been found. The carpet around her body had been brushed, leaving no footprint evidence or any kind of usable trace. And her apartment showed no signs of forced entry. Whoever had killed her had been good enough to charm his—or her—way into the house and never arouse Amy's suspicion.

The phone at his elbow rang, startling him from his thoughts. Will picked it up. "Brandt."

"Um. . .I hope this isn't a bad time." Noelle's voice over the line made him blink at his watch. Yes, he was working on a Saturday, but these sorts of investigations rarely took days off.

"No, it's. . .uh. . .got caught up in a case."

"Oh. Are you okay? I mean. . .never mind." She seemed a little nervous. "I probably shouldn't have called then, but you said to call if I needed anything. And I sort of found something. . . ."

"Noelle." Will smirked. "Or should I call you Francesca?"

A laugh came over the line. "I'll shut up now."

"Good." He sat back in his chair. Ever since the night she'd shared how her ex had felt about her first name, Will had tried to use it only in times of need. Most often than not, it brought a smile to her face. Like now. "What's on your mind?"

"Well, I found a journal." She paused and then continued, "It's small and brown. I think it was your grandmother's."

Will sat up straight. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, the date is back in 1960, and the person references 'Joseph.' Isn't that your grandfather's name?" Noelle asked. Then, she rushed to explain, "Not that I read too much. Just the first entry. But I was curious and. . . ."

"It's okay." He ran a hand over his face. "I probably would have, too. Does it have a name in the front?"

"Maryanne."

"That was Grandma." He glanced around. "Listen, I'm still at work. And I don't know when I can get out there to take a look at it."

"It's sitting here on the shelf." Noelle sounded vaguely curious and a slight bit disappointed. "It can stay where it's at, Will. I just thought you should know, especially given how things went with the family."

"Yeah." He started packing up his belongings and preparing to leave for the day. "I do appreciate it, Noelle. And, as soon as I'm able, I'll make it back out there to take a look."

"Thanks, Will." She was smiling again, and he could hear it. "How are you doing?"

"Okay."

They went on to talk about minor things, like how Greta was doing and whether he liked DC over Ephraim. But anything of real importance got glossed over because, frankly, his life didn't revolve around the beach house anymore. And, as Will hung up the phone, he found himself wishing it did.

~TBC


	8. Chapter 7

The next victim was a CIA agent, a man who had recently retired after a very successful career in Europe and moved to the Hamptons with his wealthy young wife. By the time Will arrived on the scene, the CIA had their investigator on site. Interagency cooperation being what it was and the Central Intelligence Agency being what _it_ was, no one wanted to allow him behind the crime scene tape. Thankfully, the Secretary had foreseen this complication and put in a call to the investigator's section chief. As soon as Will appeared, a phone rang, and there were a lot of "Yes, sirs" before he waved Will through.

The scene was eerily similar to Amy Rastenburger's home. Dead agent, no bullet, wiped clean. Agent Bill Hanigan's wife had found him when she returned home from a long weekend with her aging mother. The only sign of tampering came from her instinctive reaction to go to her husband's side and cradle his dead body. Even now, she sat in a chair, her eyes glued to her husband, and trembled. She'd remember this night for years, and Will hated to see the haunted expression already taking over her face.

The CIA investigator moved to Will's side. "You've got some résumé, Mr. Brandt."

Will shook his hand and shrugged. "Just doing my job, Agent. . . ?"

"Oliver. Terrence Oliver."

Will didn't doubt it was an alias. "What do we have here?" he asked, pulling gloves from his pocket and walking carefully around the crime scene. The forensics team had cleared a section of carpet all around the place, marking it off with paper for walking. As he circled the body, Will pulled on the gloves while he studied everything from the way Agent Hanigan was facing to the directionality of the blood splatter. His job as an analyst had taught him many things, and his time as an agent had forced him to become a jack-of-all-trades. Unfortunately, he'd become all too familiar with forensics.

Oliver followed, pointing with a pen as he spoke. "From what we can tell, Agent Hanigan welcomed his killer into his home. Mrs. Hanigan found him lying with his back to the door as if he knew his visitor and trusted him."

"Or her," Will murmured. He'd learned the hard way not to underestimate a woman.

Oliver conceded the point with a nod of his head. "Mrs. Hanigan ran to her husband's side, automatically assuming he could be helped. She dialed 911, which resulted in a police presence before we arrived. By then, she'd learned he was already dead and simply sat, cradling him until the paramedics forced her to put him down."

Will's eyes rose to the wife. She'd gone from trembling to rocking, a shredded Kleenex pressed to her mouth. The absolutely shattered expression told him she was innocent, but he couldn't rule out her acquaintances just yet. "And you arrived on the scene when?"

"Twenty minutes after the police arrived." Oliver looked out the window to the beach just visible at this distance. "There are protocols in place to handle this, Mr. Brandt. But his wife didn't know. . . ."

Will nodded once, not needing an explanation. "Mind if I talk to her?"

Oliver waved as if to say, "Be my guest."

Will crossed the room on the paper and approached the chair where Mrs. Hanigan sat. He crouched. "Mrs. Hanigan. I'm William Brandt with the Department of Transportation."

Her tear-filled blue eyes swung over to meet his. "What does the Department of _Transportation_ have to do with my. . . ." She couldn't finish the sentence, motioning to the body of her husband now being loaded on a stretcher. The panic that crossed her face told Will she was about to interfere with the CIA's work.

"Hey." He took her hand, holding it tightly and firmly pinning her attention on him. "The DoT just lost one of ours, as well. We're cooperating with the police and Mr. Oliver over there to find out who did this." He paused while that sunk in. "Anything you can tell us would be a big help."

Mrs. Hanigan took a deep breath. "I just came home. He was just. . ._lying_ there! Oh, God!" Her face paled and then went green, prompting Will to dive for the trash can well away from the center of the crime scene. He barely got it under Mrs. Hanigan's head in time for her stomach to lose all of its contents. Will stayed there, one hand supportively on her shoulder while she finished purging. When she was done, she passed a shaking hand over her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Will handed the trash can and its vile contents off to a paramedic while another moved in to hand Mrs. Hanigan a bottle of water. When he caught the paramedic's discreetly-flashed badge, he continued, "I need you to go upstairs and change clothes. The paramedic's going to go with you to make sure you're okay. You just walked into a nightmare, and we want to keep you from going deeper into shock. Okay?"

Mrs. Hanigan nodded and shakily pushed to her feet. Will stood with her, helping steady her before handing her off to the female agent masquerading as a paramedic. As soon as they disappeared upstairs, Oliver reappeared at his right shoulder. "Thank you. We've been trying to pry her away since we got here."

Will kept his eyes on the top of the staircase. "Cut her some slack, Oliver. She just found her husband lying in a pool of his own blood." He turned and pinned the other man in place. "What's your cover for this?" When Oliver blinked, he lowered his voice. "Let's be real. You're no more a police detective than I am an employee of the Department of Transportation. Cut the crap and tell me what you're using as a cover."

Oliver's lip curled in a barely-repressed snarl. "You're a piece of work, Brandt." Then, he sighed. "FBI. Once he retired from the field, Hanigan's cover for his family was that he flew a desk for the FBI."

Will nodded his thanks.

As Oliver moved off, he went back to his examination of the crime scene. Something about this just didn't sit right. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the way this killer operated really got under his skin. Almost like he'd seen this MO before. His mind automatically started sorting the various missions he'd been on over the years, looking for a similarity and finding none. That didn't mean it didn't exist, though. He just needed to go through case histories.

Mrs. Hanigan reappeared at that moment, still pale but looking better in jeans and a warm shirt. The "paramedic" handed the evidence kit over to the forensics team while the fallen agent's wife crossed to Will's side. "You'll find him?" she asked.

Will nodded. "I promise." Part of him wanted to cringe at that. He'd seen numerous TV shows and heard too many horror stories where investigators promised something they couldn't deliver. It had become cliché. Now, faced with the same situation, he understood. The bereaved needed something—_anything—_to believe in, and that simple promise of finding the killer gave them an anchor.

Mrs. Hanigan allowed herself to be led out of the house and toward her parents' home. An agent would follow her at all times, hopefully never being seen. For just a moment, Will was lost in memory of the last time he'd been on a protection detail. But the Hamptons were a far cry from Croatia, and it was standard procedure to keep the victim's family under surveillance. If Agent Hanigan's murder had anything to do with his work for the CIA, then the killer could go after his widow as well.

Oliver and Will wrapped up the crime scene after that, the two agents walking toward their respective cars as the sun set. Oliver was tired, but Will was too keyed up to really care. He kept going over the two crime scenes in his mind, disturbed at the familiarity they triggered. Why couldn't he remember where he'd seen this MO before?

Oliver finally faced him. "I'll forward you my case files, you forward me yours?"

Will nodded. "Sounds good." He handed over a card with the DoT logo and his contact information. "These two cases are too similar."

"Yeah, but I'm not getting the connection between a DoT pencil-pusher and Hanigan."

Will smiled. "Sometimes, the connection's there. You just don't see it."

"You know you sound like one of those CSI shows, right?"

Will shrugged and climbed into his car. As he drove away, he sighed. Mrs. Hanigan, with her fair skin and blond hair, had slightly resembled Noelle Blake. Granted, Noelle had much longer hair and brown eyes, but the similarities were close enough to make him think about her. And, not for the first time, he breathed a sigh of relief that he'd kept himself from falling in love with her. Seeing the grief on Mrs. Hanigan's face had been intense enough. He really didn't want to know what Noelle's face would look like, not after their long walk on the beach. Noelle had seen enough grief to last her a lifetime.

He spent the rest of the night driving and then going over Amy Rastenburger's case file, ensuring that it was prepared for the CIA. When the sun finally rose, he sat back in his chair.

This case had just taken a strange turn, though Will couldn't exactly figure out what it was. Still, he'd learned his gut often had a pretty good grasp on reality, and it now said something was wrong. Very wrong. And, somehow, he was connected to it.

oOo

A week after finding the journal, Noelle arrived home from work to find Travis in her driveway. He looked as if he'd been sitting there for hours and had the audacity to glare at her. She squeezed her van around his car, reveling in the way he cringed when she came rather close to scraping it, and parked in her spot. She made a quick call to Greta, speaking only a few words for the other woman to know what was going on. Then, when she climbed out of her van, she sighed. "I'm tired and just had a long day at work, so make it quick."

Travis scoffed. "You work?"

Noelle just stared at him, Will's words about not letting him control her in _her_ home ringing through her head. For years, Travis had used words to browbeat her, and she'd thought she'd gotten away. But, for some reason, he kept turning up. For just a moment, she regretted that Will was back in DC rather than here.

When she didn't rise to his bait, Travis looked around. "So, where's your boyfriend?"

"He's my _landlord_, and he doesn't live here." She folded her arms. "I do, and I'm within my rights to call the police and have you removed from the property."

Travis's eyebrows rose when he realized she'd positioned herself between him and the house. "Really, Noelle? You're gonna try to threaten me?"

"Not a threat."

Travis walked forward, counting on her to back away. And she almost did. For the last five years of their marriage, she had barely been able to stand him touching her for any reason. They'd fought over it, especially when Travis cruelly told her that he was "fully satisfied" without her "fulfilling her duties to him." It only confirmed her suspicions that he'd started another affair. He'd even taken to coming home smelling like another woman and looking like he'd climbed from that bed only moments ago. All of it worked on Noelle, making her shy away from close contact. He often invaded her personal space just to see her back away like a frightened child.

Today, though, she simply stared up at him. It cost her, and she hoped he didn't see the way her heart pounded or that her knees were shaking ever so slightly.

"Oh, yeah?" Travis asked, his minty breath hot in her face. "You called the cops?"

"What do you want, Travis?"

"To talk to your boyfriend."

Noelle wanted to correct him, to point out yet again that she and Will weren't dating. But it would do no good. Travis believed what he wanted to believe.

"Where is he, Noelle?"

She shrugged. "I honestly have no idea."

Travis laughed. "That's funny. You just made a joke. Because no one is that _dumb_!" His voice rose until he was shouting in her face. "You expect me to believe you don't know where the man you're. . . ."

A cleared throat interrupted his rant, and Travis glanced over his shoulder. Axel and Greta Wolff stood there, along with an armed sheriff. The law enforcement officer was quite a bit younger than Noelle's bosses, quite a bit larger than Travis, and quite furious. His hand rested on his nightstick. "Sir, I believe the lady gave you an answer."

Travis looked from Noelle to the sheriff and back. He laughed. "You sleepin' with him, too, Noelle? Huh?"

Noelle barely managed to hold on to her anger, maintaining the cold facade she'd put on the moment she arrived home. "Travis, just go home."

Travis snorted. "Oh, no, it's getting' too good, now. How many guys you sleepin' with, Noelle?"

"Zero."

The sheriff took another step forward. "The lady told you to leave. You leave now, or I arrest you for trespassing."

Travis huffed out another laugh. "We're not done," he told Noelle.

"Yes, you are," the sheriff responded.

Travis gave him another withering glare before he climbed into his car and sent gravel flying as he drove away. Noelle waited until the sound of the car vanished before she visibly wilted. Axel appeared at her side, putting a supporting arm around her shoulders while leading her toward the door. The sheriff followed, helping a puffing Greta, while Noelle unlocked the front door and let them all into her home.

She immediately waved Greta into a chair and headed for the kitchen. Her throat was dry, her head ached, and she just wanted a drink of water. Scratch that. She wanted a hot shower to wash any trace of Travis from her body. "I'm sorry. I just didn't know who to call and Will wasn't here and. . . ."

The sheriff raised his hand. "It's fine, ma'am. I'm Dane Winters. Anytime you need anything, give me a call." He eyed the front of her house. "Have you considered a restraining order?"

Noelle rolled her eyes. "He'd just ignore it."

"You'd have more legal cause to have him arrested." Winters shrugged. "Though, based on what I just saw, I could arrest him next time he comes for harassing you."

Noelle breathed a sigh of relief at that. At least she didn't have to explain that Travis would show up. Winters seemed to understand that. "I'll think about it. But I'm fairly sure I have a month before that happens."

Winters nodded and, after bidding everyone goodbye, left the property. Noelle watched him go and then turned to Greta and Axel. "Thank you for coming."

Greta waved her out of the kitchen, somewhat recovered from the stress that made her puff so badly a few moments before. "I told you to call." She opened Noelle's fridge as if she owned it. "You go clean up and relax a bit. From what I could see, that good-for-nothin' left you a bit rattled. I'll have dinner ready when you're done. _And_," she added, raising her voice and wagging her finger under Noelle's nose when the younger woman started to protest, "no lip from you."

Noelle's mouth snapped shut at that, and she nodded. She'd heard Greta put Axel in his place with that tone and knew arguing was pointless. Instead, she left Axel perusing the books and headed to the bathroom.

She seriously wanted to talk to Will. That surprised her, and she sighed. Maybe it was their friendship or that he knew the truth of what happened between her and Travis. It didn't matter. He was _there_, not _here_, and DC was a long ways away.

oOo

Travis didn't stop driving until he was out of town. Then, he pulled to the side of the road and dropped the angry exterior. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he dialed and waited for the pick-up. "He's not here."

"_You're sure_?"

"Yes. She's not smart enough to lie."

"_Watch your tone. She's still my daughter_."

Travis snickered. "You gave up that right two years ago when you disowned her. Remember?"

A sigh came over the line. "_Did she tell you where he is_?"

"No."

"_Keep an eye on her. He'll show up eventually, and I want to know when he does_." The call disconnected.

Travis rolled his eyes and pulled back into traffic when he saw a sheriff's car headed his way. He made sure to obey every traffic law on the books as the sheriff passed him and then set the pace for the rest of the idiots on the road. He'd married Noelle Blake for one reason: her connections. Once he got those, he'd had no further use for her. She did provide some interesting diversions, though, particularly when she started protesting his many affairs. That only fueled his need to have them because, deep down, her fear and subjugation satisfied him more than anything else ever had.

oOo

Will had just wearily climbed into bed late Saturday night when his phone rang—his _personal_ phone. Now that he was back on duty, the phone the IMF had given him via Ethan was the office's primary point of contact. He reached over, fumbling for the flip-phone, and opened it. "Hello?"

"_Will_?" Noelle sounded tired and slightly edgy.

He sat up. "Everything okay?"

She sighed. "_It is now. Travis came today._"

He remembered the last time Travis had come. "How are you?"

"_I wish you were here. I wound up with Greta, Axel, and the sheriff out here._" She paused for a long moment. "_I probably shouldn't have called, but. . . ._"

"Hey, it's okay." _What is it with upset women and me?_ He couldn't stop the question from floating through his mind. "You wanna talk about it?"

"_Not really._" She snorted. "_You would have been proud. He got in my face, and I didn't back down._"

Will smiled at that. "Good girl," he said softly.

"_Woof, woof._"

Her quip made him laugh, and the tension flowed out of his shoulders as he realized she'd be alright. "How's everything else?"

"_Quiet. You_?"

He flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "You know. Work."

"_Yeah_." She seemed to smile. "_Get some sleep, Will. You sound tired_."

He smiled at that. "You, too. I mean—you get some rest. Not that you sound tired."

"_I know_." This time, she laughed. "_Goodnight._"

"Night." He hung up the phone, a smile still on his face. Strange how a simple phone call could help him relax. He'd have to remember that. . .after he got some sleep. He managed to rest well that night and spent most of Sunday doing minor errands and things like buying a few groceries and washing laundry. Now that he'd gone back to his life in the IMF, he couldn't help but feel the typical disconnect between his life and what he did to survive. The IMF was his life, hence why he hadn't allowed himself to fall for Noelle. What he did to survive included things like paying the bills, shopping for food, and cleaning his apartment.

The CIA files showed up on Monday. Will spent most of the day going through Agent Hanigan's cases, but, like he'd expected, a good number of them had been redacted. As an analyst and agent, he really did understand the need to keep things classified, but Oliver had been given his true security clearance back at the crime scene. It frustrated him and, after wasting time sorting through pages with more black on them than anything, Will finally sat back and rubbed his face. There wasn't enough here to compare to Amy Rastenburger's case files. In order to find a connection, another person had to die.

That sent Will's anger skyrocketing, and he clenched his fists as he worked to calm down. The last time he'd been this angry, he'd been in Dubai. Jane had just kicked Sabine Moreau out a window of the Burj Khalifa, and Will had managed to alienate the entire team in those moments. He couldn't do that now. He needed a clear head so he could focus. Not be worried about another death.

Putting the CIA files that they'd "shared" back into their folder, he sent an email to the Secretary informing him of the development. Then, Will took a walk. The fresh air helped clear his head, and he managed to finish the day without shouting at anyone or throwing anything that didn't need to be thrown.

oOo

Monday morning, Noelle arrived at work as usual. She found Greta in the kitchen of the restaurant, happily directing the morning crew as she huffed and puffed her way around. Noelle waited until she'd finished being bossy before moving to her side. "Thanks."

Greta gave her a smile. "I told you to call."

"I wasn't talking about showing up to get rid of Travis, though I'm glad you brought the sheriff." Noelle shrugged. "Thanks for sticking around."

"Honey, I could see what standing up to him took out of you." Greta patted her cheek. "Glad I was there. Wanted to kick him in the. . . ."

Axel interrupted his wife right then, much to Noelle's amusement. The mental image of Greta kicking Travis in a very sensitive location caused her to laugh. She shook her head as she went to work, which consisted of welcoming the few old-timers to the restaurant for breakfast. Greta had assured Noelle that business would pick up in the summer months, and she found herself hoping that, maybe, Will would come back sometime soon. She enjoyed talking with him, and the sound of his sleepy voice over the phone had soothed the residual agitation brought on by Travis's visit.

Around lunch time, business picked up again as a writer's group from a nearby town drove in for lunch. They co-opted a table in the rear of the restaurant and spent the time laughing and catching up. Laptops and notebooks came out after the women finished their lunches, and Noelle smiled as they typed, chatted, and laughed. She managed to overhear some of their conversation and suddenly wished she could sit down and talk to them. Their stories sounded interesting.

Then, Greta decided they needed afternoon tea. She'd already told Noelle not to charge them for it and had waddled into the kitchen. She appeared ten minutes later with a tray, complete with teapot, for the women and started their way.

Noelle frowned. She'd known Greta wasn't in the best health since she'd taken this job, but her boss looked _gray_. She started moving forward as Greta stopped in place. Sweat glistened off of her forehead as she swayed several times, the tea set falling from her hands. It crashed, drawing everyone's attention to it, as Greta tipped forward.

For Noelle, it happened in slow motion. She managed to catch Greta as she fell toward the shattered tea set, taking her bulk and cushioning the older woman's fall. She smacked her head on a chair on the way down and managed to bang her elbow against the tile floor. Axel saw his wife collapse from the front of the restaurant and hurried to her side.

One of the women in the writer's group pushed the others out of the way. "Call 911!" she snapped as she knelt next to Noelle and Greta. She met Noelle's eyes. "I'm a licensed EMT. May I look at her?"

Axel nodded, and the woman took Greta's pulse. She then turned to Noelle. "Lay her flat."

Noelle complied and scooted out of the way, moving to Axel's side and putting a hand on his shoulder. Her head ached badly from where she'd hit the chair, and her elbow throbbed. She watched, idly rubbing her elbow, as the paramedic started administering CPR. At that point, Axel started praying, and Noelle couldn't help but join him.

Seemingly a long time later, the ambulance arrived. Noelle knew it had only taken a few moments. Ephraim had several ambulances on stand-by due to the number of vacationers that came through, and those paramedics joined the woman from the writer's group in getting Greta into an ambulance. Axel rode with them while two others looked at Noelle. They determined that, while she had a knot on her head and a headache, she hadn't given herself a concussion. Her elbow, though, caused a bit of concern, so they put her in another ambulance and carted her off to the hospital as well.

Hours later, she found Axel in the ICU. He sat next to Greta's bedside, watching his wife struggle for her life. Noelle listened as he brokenly told her the diagnosis and then blinked when he asked her to run the B&B. He turned to look at her. "We'd planned on askin' you to manage the place for us anyway. Greta wants to travel, and I was gonna take her."

Noelle put her hand on his shoulder. "I'll take care of it. I promise."

Axel nodded, looking lost. "Thanks."

Knowing she had to get back home, Noelle left him with her phone number and accepted a ride from the first paramedic—a woman named Mel. Once at the now-closed B&B and her van, she pulled out her phone and dialed.

Will's warm voice from the other end brought tears to her eyes. She couldn't stop them any more than she could keep the wobble from her voice. "Will?"

"_Noelle, what's wrong_?" He sounded ready to jump on the next plane.

"It's Greta." She swiped at her running nose, wincing when it jarred her bruised elbow. "She collapsed at work today. Heart attack."

Will cursed. "_Oh, honey, I'm sorry_!" His endearment made Noelle smile as she knew he likely didn't realize he'd used it.

"It's worse." Noelle steadied herself by staring out the front window. "She's had several over the last few months. Doctors say it's chronic heart failure, pretty advanced. She's in ICU, and they're not sure if she'll make it."

Something, probably a pencil, hit a hard surface on the other end. "_Just hang in there. I'm on my way._"

Noelle ended the call a few moments later, feeling both chagrined and relieved. Will was coming. Even if he couldn't do anything to help Greta, he would be a great source of strength for Noelle. And she needed it right then. She knew she should have argued, should have told him to stay in DC, should have. . . .She couldn't. Right now, with Travis's visit so recent, she just didn't have the ability to get through this on her own.

~TBC


	9. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** So, this chapter is shorter than the others, but I think you'll understand why.

**assantra:** Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much!

As always, I do hope you enjoy this chapter! ~lg

oOo

Will arrived in Ephraim mid-afternoon the following day. After hanging up the phone with Noelle, he went directly to the Secretary and explained the situation. His investigation was stalled out anyway, and he needed more data. A _lot_ more data. Even as he walked into the restaurant attached to the B&B, the Secretary's words echoed in his head. _I know this isn't much of a mission, but you're the best person we have for the job, Brandt. You're an analyst as well as an agent. If anyone's going to catch the people behind this, you will._ He'd gone on to give Will a few days barring any new developments to take care of things "at home," and Will tiredly climbed onto a plane sometime in the wee hours of the morning.

Now, he watched Noelle wander through the tables at the restaurant. Ephraim had turned out in force to support two of their long-time residents. Will remembered Axel and Greta Wolff from his years as a kid, and it hurt to see her so sick. With the restaurant filled, Noelle flitted from one place to another, refilling tea glasses, answering questions, and smiling that tense smile that said she needed some time. There were several more hours before the restaurant closed and she could go home.

But Will saw more than that. She moved stiffly, as if bruised. And her right arm was in a sling. Every now and then, she rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache or stifled a yawn while refilling her pitcher with tea.

She turned after one of these refills and caught sight of him. The tense smile melted into a _relieved_ smile, and she made her way toward him. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem." Will glanced around. "Busy day."

"Yeah." Noelle shrugged. "I'd offer you a table and early dinner, but. . . ." She motioned helplessly at the full restaurant. "Most of them just want coffee, dessert, and information. But it's been. . .crazy."

He nodded. "I understand."

She met his eyes, biting the inside of her lip hesitantly. "Look, I'd give you a room, but the B&B's closed for now. With Greta in the hospital and Axel with her, I just can't be a presence here twenty-four hours a day." She lowered her voice. "But—oh, God, this is awkward. But I have that spare room. I trust you, and. . . .Okay, more awkward than I thought."

Will laughed at that. "The spare room would be fine. I'll only be here for a couple nights."

Noelle nodded this time, but another patron came in before she could reply. She politely welcomed them and asked them to wait before returning to Will's side. "You have your key?"

"Uh. . .no." Will frowned. "It's in DC."

"Let me get these guys seated, and I'll give you mine."

Will watched as she escorted the newcomers to a recently emptied table, apologizing for the delays. Within ten minutes, she'd taken their orders and returned with her key. Will accepted it, waving away her awkward apology for being so busy, and let her get back to work. He drove to the beach house, taking thought to park out of the way so Noelle could get in her typical spot in the driveway.

The house looked so different. With the outside repainted and the obvious signs of habitation, it went from a dingy, dilapidated mess to a quaint bungalow with charm. Noelle had even cleared out the flowerbeds in the front and planted small bundles of flowers. She had pots all over the front porch, some with seedlings and others with mature plants. Will took a moment to read the labels, not in the least surprised to see most of the pots were herbs of some sort. Oregano, basil, thyme, sage, cilantro, mint, rosemary, lavender. . .Any herbalist would have a field day on this front porch.

Inside, the differences were even more noticeable. The smell of paint had faded, leaving behind a scent that Will would always associate with Noelle. Hints of coffee, vanilla, and the beach permeated the house. An antique bookshelf filled one wall, his grandmother's books displayed in various arrangements with little knickknacks filling the empty spots. A blue ruffled scarf halfway finished lay on the coffee table next to a book. The living room had end tables now, complete with lamps, hooks for coats, a couple pairs of shoes next to the door, and a blanket haphazardly thrown onto the couch. In the kitchen, Noelle had left a few dishes for later, and the different canisters and decorations punctuated the counter tops.

Shaking his head at the differences, Will moseyed into the guest room. It had an iron-framed bed similar to the master bedroom, a hand-made quilt in shades of tan and brown, and mismatched pillows. Noelle had added an old-fashioned rocking chair to the room, along with sheer curtains, blinds, a rag rug, worn wooden dresser, and a few pictures. The trunks that had served as end tables in the living room now filled in as bedside tables.

Will set his bag on the bed, smiling at the change, and pulled out fresh clothes. He'd been wearing the same outfit for over twenty-four hours, having left the office for the airport, and needed a shower and shave. In the bathroom, he found the beachy, light theme had carried through. The vintage claw-foot bathtub had been thoroughly cleaned, and Noelle had painted the walls sage green. Tall wainscoting was the same linen color as the majority of the house, and dark accessories accented everything.

Leaving the bathroom, he couldn't help peeking into her room. He didn't enter but managed to see the transformation. Gray walls, dark wood furniture, and copper accents perfectly suited Noelle. Pulling the door closed, Will returned to the bathroom and climbed into the tub with its handheld shower to wash the grime of the last day off his body.

By the time Noelle returned, he had managed to settle in and make a quick run to the grocery store. Steaks sizzled on the grill, and he'd slid a pan of potatoes into the oven. Noelle's van crunched on the gravel drive as she pulled up, and Will met her in the back door of her home.

She blinked as she smelled dinner. "Wow! You didn't have to cook."

"You gave me a place to stay. It's the _least_ I could do." He watched as she disdainfully took off the sling and winced as she straightened her elbow. "Should you be taking that thing off?"

"Doctor said it's only bruised." She gingerly rubbed the joint. "The swelling's going down, but he wants me using the sling for the rest of the week."

Will accepted that with a nod. "Have you heard from Axel?"

Noelle sighed. "Greta's still unconscious. They're saying now that she also had a stroke."

He winced at that. "Any idea on her prognosis?"

"No." Noelle's voice was soft. She jabbed a thumb down the hall. "I'm gonna. . .clean up."

Will smiled. "I'll be out here."

He watched her wearily walk down the hallway and then returned to the back porch to turn the steaks on the grill. He'd found his grandmother's journal, set aside so it wouldn't get mixed in with the other books, and had been sitting with it in his hands when Noelle pulled up. Part of him couldn't wait to get into it and find out what secrets it contained._ I really am a spy at heart._ But another part of him hesitated. Did he really want to know his family's secrets? Was the reason his grandfather disowned him in here? Would it change anything?

While he could be decisive in the field, Will found himself more than a little hesitant in his personal life. He controlled it by trying to plot out every eventuality in the field, but he hated the sensation of being _out_ of control. And relationships were inherently unpredictable.

Noelle reappeared just after he pulled the steaks from the grill, looking a bit better now that she'd had a few moments to herself. She looked over the baked potatoes with cheese, salad, and steaks, shaking her head. "Wow. A man that can cook."

Will frowned at her, making sure to smirk just a touch so she knew he wasn't really upset. "There's more of us than you think."

"Really?" Her eyes sparkled. "You're the first I've met."

_Given your experiences with men, I'm not surprised._ Will bit down on the comment and handed her a plate. "Just for that, you're doing dishes."

The lighthearted banter continued as they loaded their plates and settled at the table on the back patio. The front porch got a lot of afternoon sun, perfect for growing herbs and vegetables. The back patio stayed shaded and cool thanks to the breeze coming off the lake.

Noelle waited until they'd taken a few bites to nod at the journal he'd left on the table. "I see you found it."

Will eyed the book. "Yeah. I haven't read it."

"Why not?"

"Because." He didn't have a better answer. But she seemed to understand and dropped the subject.

They enjoyed a quiet evening, neither one feeling like doing much talking. Will's mind constantly reviewed the case he'd left in DC, trying to find something to explain the uneasy feeling he'd had since seeing Agent Hanigan's body. Based on her expression, Noelle worried for Greta and really needed to get some rest.

Seeing the weariness on her face, Will checked his watch and decided it was time for him to get some sleep, too. He stood and, after bidding her goodnight, slipped inside to the guest room. Noelle stayed on the porch for a while yet, but he was still awake when she locked up the house and retired.

Will rolled onto his back and frowned at the ceiling. How would Noelle respond if she knew that he'd been tense since arriving, like someone was watching them, and now slept with a gun under his pillow?

oOo

Noelle made breakfast the next morning and headed off to work while Will prepared for a drive to the hospital. He'd decided to visit Axel and Greta, show his support, and then figure out what to do about his grandmother's journal. That little book caused such hesitation in him, but he couldn't quite bring himself to read it just yet.

He found Axel still at his wife's bedside, weary and in need of a friendly face. He straightened when he saw Will, standing and quietly welcoming him.

Will looked at the woman in the bed. "How is she?"

Axel's face broke, and Will suddenly knew. The doctors didn't expect Greta to survive. He put a hand on the elderly man's shoulder as Axel started talking. "She didn't tell me. She's been having problems with her heart for years, but she didn't tell me it had gotten bad."

Will listened while Axel talked fondly of his wife, smiling in the right places. He couldn't help the wave of longing that rose up when Axel shared humorous stories from when the two of them had raised their kids. He wanted that one day, but he'd sacrificed it for the IMF. No matter how he might feel drawn to a simpler life in Wisconsin, he just couldn't walk away from the agency that gave him a purpose.

Leaving the hospital, Will couldn't help thinking about his own grandparents. Did they love each other as much as Greta and Axel obviously had? Did they have their regrets? Was Will one of them?

Those questions spurred him to grab the journal that Noelle had moved from the back deck to the coffee table. A rainstorm had moved into the area while Will had been out, so he made a cup of tea and settled on the couch to read. The first several entries were pretty mundane as his grandmother detailed the idyllic life she'd had in 1960. Then, things changed.

_I met the most wonderful man today. His name is Robert Blake, and his family owns the property next to ours. They're here for the summer: Mr. Blake and his parents. While he's only two years older than I, he is unmarried and happy._

_I cannot help being drawn to him. His smile and the way he talks to me, not over me, is just such a relief. He met the boys today, as well, and they fell in love with him. I watched from the sidelines as they threw a baseball back and forth, and Mr. Blake never once acted as if it were a burden._

_If only Joseph were that way with his sons. And with me._

Will frowned. "Robert Blake," he murmured, his eyes narrowing. "Robert Blake? Why do I know that name?"

The connection to Noelle was obvious. She'd grown up in this town and was a Blake. But that didn't mean Robert Blake. Did it?

Standing briskly and walking into the guest room, Will pulled out his laptop and logged into the secure IMF server. Typing in the year and name, he waited while the computer did its work. When the results came up on the screen, he simply stared at the screen as he processed what this meant.

_Robert Edward Blake, father of Jonathan Kenneth Blake, father of Francesca Noelle Blake._ Noelle's grandfather and Will's grandmother had known each other.

oOo

Noelle left the restaurant that day thoroughly exhausted. Axel had supported her decision to close down the B&B portion of the business temporarily while she found her footing. And she was grateful. The news on Greta wasn't good, but she decided to keep pulling for her friend. She needed Greta there.

Meanwhile, she had Will. He could only stay one more night, at the most, but she was thankful he'd made the trip to see her. Just having him there gave her the stability she needed to get through this. They hadn't talked much last night, both of them tired and needing the quiet. But just knowing he sat next to her helped her nerves more than he understood. Having him sleeping in the next room had been different, exciting and forbidden and all-too-enticing. She'd never had a male friend—whether romantic or not—with whom she felt completely safe before Will, so she resisted anything that might be romantic on the chance it was just her own desires. She cared for Will, yes. But she cared enough to make sure she didn't hurt him.

Shaking the thoughts out of her head, she found him in the kitchen this time, washing a few dishes as dinner sat on the stove. Today, he'd raided her fridge and made some sort of pasta. He looked at her, his eyes moving before his head in that strange yet familiar way of his, and he reached for a towel. He wore a white button-down shirt today, the sleeves rolled to the elbows in a way that made him look as if he'd been working all day at the office. And, when he moved to the door of the kitchen, he stood loosely, almost as if he expected trouble.

Noelle frowned. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just. . . ." He leaned one shoulder on the door, unconsciously blocking her access to the kitchen. "I read my grandmother's journal today."

Her interest peaked right away. She'd been _dying_ to know what it said but she'd resisted the urge to read it. "And?" She waited as he left the kitchen completely before helping herself to the tea in the fridge. When she turned around, Will stood in the living room. He'd shoved his hands into the pockets of his black slacks and had his head down. "Will?"

He looked at her out of the tops of his eyes again. "And she knew your grandfather."

Noelle blinked. "She did? Because, as far as I remember, my family couldn't stand the Hayes. Present company excluded, of course. I never knew why, but it went back as far as I could remember."

Will glanced around the room, his discomfort becoming more and more obvious as time went on. "Because, based on what I read, my grandmother didn't just know your grandfather. She fell in love with him."

Noelle physically jerked at that, jarring her bruised elbow and spilling a few drops of tea on the counter. "Wait. What?"

Will shrugged. "I don't know yet because I haven't gotten that far into the journal. But I think our grandparents had an affair."

oOo

The rock that had settled into Noelle's chest at Will's announcement only grew heavier as the evening progressed. He served dinner—a wonderful pasta with tomatoes, sausage, and asparagus mixed in—while they read his grandmother's journal. She had to agree with him about his suspicions, and she knew both of them had the same thought. _What if we're related? This would explain why the Blakes and the Hayes didn't mix. Too much bad blood, especially if Will's grandmother had my grandfather's baby._ Back in the early sixties, that just didn't happen. Not openly, like the journal seemed to portray.

There was still a lot of journal left to read, but Noelle had heard enough and retired not long after their lengthy discussion of the events surrounding the Blake-Hayes rift and how it had become a huge secret between the families. She had another long day ahead of her, and she needed rest. But her mind refused to shut down.

What if she was related to Will? If his mother was her grandfather's daughter, that would make them cousins. First cousins, actually. It meant that his mother was her _aunt_. How did she feel about that? And why would it cause such disappointment? She and Will were friends—and possibly family. So why was she suddenly angry and sick at the thought of their respective grandparents being adults and making adult mistakes?

_Travis._ She sighed and rolled over, burying her face in her pillow. As the woman who'd been cheated on multiple times, she had sympathy for both Will's grandmother _and_ his grandfather. She understood the woman wishing her husband would just love her for who she was, but she also felt the pain of not being enough for her spouse. It was a very weird position to find herself in, and it kept her awake most of the night.

She knew Will didn't sleep all that much, either. She'd heard him come in about an hour after she laid down, his steps almost completely silent as he slipped into his room and went to bed. To his credit, he didn't treat her any different after they made the discovery, and she found herself grateful they hadn't taken their relationship any further than friendship. She'd heard and read sordid stories like this before but never once believed she'd find herself in such a cliché. _But clich__é__s are cliché for a reason. Because they really do happen that often._

Noelle had just finished making breakfast when Will's phone rang. She heard him answer it in the bedroom and sensed the change. His voice dropped slightly, and he came out of the room with an apologetic look on his face. She met his eyes. "You're heading back."

"Yeah. I was in the middle of a stalled investigation that's not stalled anymore." He glanced around before his gaze settled on her. "Look, Noelle, as far as I'm concerned, this doesn't change anything. You're still my friend, and. . . ."

She raised a hand. "Right now, I'm kind of grateful for that." She waited for a short moment. "When do you leave?"

"My plane leaves in three hours. I have time for breakfast and to get to the airport."

Noelle didn't comment on the fact that it would take two hours just to get through check-in and security. How did he have time to eat breakfast with her? It didn't make sense. Instead, she served their leftover steak from the night he'd arrived, eggs, hashbrowns, and coffee. Then, she walked him to the car and waved as he drove away.

Inside, she realized he'd left the journal behind and thought about his parting words. _Go ahead and read it if you want. If we're related, it's about your family, too._ Noelle held the journal in her hands, the ribbon marking where they'd left off the previous evening, and sighed. It might be about her family, but it was still _his_. And she didn't feel right even opening it until he could get back to finish it.

In the meantime, she'd just have to deal with the questions.

oOo

Travis's phone rang nearly a week after his visit to Noelle's. He snatched it up. "Yeah?"

"_Will Brandt was here._"

"_Was_ here?"

"_He left suddenly yesterday morning._"

"And you're just now telling me this?" Travis tried to tamp down his anger. The man on the other end of the phone deserved to be punished for not calling in time for him to get to get to Ephraim and complete his assignment.

"_I didn't know until now. He apparently arrived the day after Greta Wolff's heart attack._"

"Why didn't you know?"

"_One of my friends is in the hospital, and I have a _job_ to do. One that people expect._" The man sighed. "_And he kept it quiet. He didn't stay at the bed and breakfast, and Noelle never mentioned him at work._"

Travis sighed. "Okay. Where'd he go, then?"

"_That's the thing. My guy at the airport said he bypassed security, hopped on a charter plane, and left. That's how I found out._"

Travis hung up the phone without commenting.

So, William Brandt had come back to Ephraim to see Noelle. Why? Certainly not because she'd called him about Travis's little visit last Saturday. That prompted her to call Brandt, but the man didn't hop on a plane until Greta Wolff collapsed.

A smile formed on Travis's lips as he made the connections. Maybe Noelle was telling the truth, and she wasn't sleeping with Brandt. It didn't matter because Travis now knew how to get him to come to Ephraim.

Two days later, Greta Wolff died.

~TBC


	10. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** Okay, this one reverses time a bit to before the end of the last chapter. I hope everyone enjoys! ~lg

oOo

Will knew things had changed the moment the phone rang. He snatched it off the bedside table and plastered it to his ear. "Yes?"

"_Please hold for the Secretary._"

Will blinked. The _Secretary_ was calling him? Why? Then, the bottom dropped out of his stomach. If the Secretary was calling him, then something very, very bad had happened. He reached for his sidearm and checked it as he waited, the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder.

"_Mr. Brandt._" The Secretary's voice made him straighten. He left his right sleeve unbuttoned as he caught the phone before it fell. "_I know you had a personal situation arise, but we need you back here._"

Will nodded even though the other man couldn't see him. "What happened, Sir?"

"_We've had another death._" The Secretary sighed. "_I'm sending your team to meet you at the plane. They'll be at a nearby airstrip in three hours._" He hesitated, and then added, "_We need you on this, Mr. Brandt. Otherwise, I'd consider passing this off onto one of the analysts so you could get back into the field._"

"I understand, Sir." Will again tucked the phone and finished buttoning his shirt sleeve. "I'll be ready."

A few moments later, he found Noelle in the kitchen, pouring up two cups of coffee. She glanced up, their breakfast still hot, and straightened. "You're heading back."

Nearly three hours later, Will walked into the small airport and was waved through security. The tiny airfield boasted one security guard and only a few employees. The private jet that the Secretary had sent stood out, and Will carried his bag up the stairs and into the plane. Then, he froze.

Benji and Jane were waiting for him.

Benji had no reservations about filling the silence. "Hey, you going to stand there forever or what?"

Will mentally shook himself from his stunned silence and set down his bag.

His friends looked good. Benji had obviously gotten a bit of sun based on the red skin all over his face, and he seemed as energetic and articulate as ever. Predictably, he wore one of his strange plaid shirt and solid tie combinations that very few could pull off with such aplomb. Jane wore jeans and a V-necked t-shirt. Her sneakers lent her the look of a college student, but her eyes narrowed. Will knew she was simply evaluating him for his current condition, but he found it disconcerting nonetheless.

He finally found his voice. "You're my team."

Benji huffed a laugh. "Yeah." His tone clearly said, "Duh!"

Jane spoke up before Will could ask another silly question. "The Secretary thought you could use some back-up on this case, so he sent us along."

Will's instinct was to snap that he'd be fine, but he managed to hold in that reaction. Instead, he settled into a chair as the plane began to taxi down the runway and eyed Benji's computer. "What do we have?"

Benji picked up his computer and handed it to Will, his expression unreadable.

Will scrolled through the information on the screen, his heart falling the more he read. Michael Winslow, an IMF agent of Ethan Hunt's caliber, had been killed. Will had sent him on numerous missions and knew him to be a level-headed, reasonable man. He wouldn't have compromised himself or his mission.

The paperwork that Benji handed him showed Winslow's recent work. After Ghost Protocol, Winslow had returned to the US to set up his new apartment in Washington before going right back to work. He'd been sent to Paris to obtain information on a new supervirus supposedly being developed. His murder didn't appear to be related to the mission, hence why the Secretary didn't disavow him. He'd been shot and killed in his hotel room, facing the door with his sidearm in his hand. The gun had been left behind, and the photos from Paris police showed that the room hadn't been disturbed in any way.

Will frowned. "Where are we at with forensics?"

"Still waiting," Benji said. "But the room was wiped clean."

"Gun?"

"Not found, but the bullet wounds are a match to Amy Rastenburger and Bill Hanigan."

Jane moved to read over Will's shoulder. "What does someone have against an IMF analyst, a CIA agent, and an IMF agent?"

"I don't know." Will handed the computer back to Benji and rubbed his face. "But something about this isn't right. The crime scenes are familiar, but I can't place them. Almost like I saw it one time in passing but never spent enough time there for it to stick."

Jane sat back in her own seat. "So?"

Will met her eyes. "So, we take a look at files. Start tearing apart every case that Amy Rastenburger and Michael Winslow worked. I'll go through mine, as well. Maybe we can find the connection, because that's all we can do."

oOo

By the time the plane was in the air, Will was elbow-deep in files. Benji was efficient, producing every file that Will requested. He then handed anything related to Amy Rastenburger to Jane while Will sorted through Michael Winslow's file. Winslow was a good agent, not given to making stupid mistakes. So, for him to get killed, his activities had to be reported to someone. Or. . . .

"Hey, Benji?" Will finally spoke up halfway through Winslow's files. He eyed the Brit. "You ever find out anything about that breach in IMF security?"

The look Benji gave him told Will there was a lot more to the story than he'd said. "That's why I'm here. Both Rastenburger and Winslow's files were pulled during that breach."

Jane straightened. "Anyone else?"

"A few." Benji eyed Will, who quickly put it together.

"It wasn't my family that hacked our files, was it?" When Benji shook his head, Will reached for a second computer. "Start going through my files. Eliminate the cases I've worked one at a time. I want to know if there's any crossover between Rastenburger, Winslow, and myself."

Both Benji and Jane stared at him. Jane spoke. "You're sure?"

Will heaved a sigh and met her eyes. "No. But something's not right. I've seen this MO before but can't place it. Only thing I can figure is I came across it on a mission and didn't realize what I was seeing."

Benji continued to stare for a few moments and then sighed. "Okay. If you're sure."

Will met his eyes. "I trust you, Benji."

The Englishman nodded, swallowing hard at that, and went to work. For a long time, the only sound was the turning of pages and the click of Benji's keys. While Will and Jane both preferred physical files for this sort of work, Benji liked his computers. They paused halfway through their search to transfer from the plane to IMF headquarters, but it was nearing dinnertime before any of them found anything.

Jane sat up straight in her chair. "What's the Coalition?"

Will blinked. The Coalition was a loose organization of some of the wealthiest men in the world—and a few not-so-wealthy men—who believed they could control political decisions to their advantage. They wanted power without being seen, freeing them up to amass more wealth through shady deals to which no one could tie them. This gave them "plausible deniability" even though each member had a direct hand in whatever vice they chose. Drugs, human trafficking, weapons, and information passed freely through their hands. They'd been jokingly called "The Real Illuminati" by government agents in the know. As cliché as it sounded, Will knew the Coalition to be very real and very dangerous.

Infiltrating their organization was also Will's first major assignment as a new agent. He sat back in his chair and blew out a deep breath. "Who's file mentions them?"

"Rastenburger's." Jane offered him the appropriate folder.

Will turned to his desk, sorting through Winslow's files. Winslow was never as well-known as Ethan Hunt but certainly as skilled in the beginning. Men became what their lives made them. While most of Winslow's cases went right, Ethan had the occasional disaster develop on him. Hence why Winslow stayed out of the limelight.

But someone had come calling for him, and it could very well be the Coalition. That would explain why Rastenburger and Winslow knew their attackers.

Will found the appropriate file and carried it to a nearby empty desk. He started explaining the Coalition and their aims as he went through the information. According to these files, Rastenburger had put together the intel that allowed Winslow to stop a major weapons deal from happening between the Coalition and Middle Eastern terrorists. The shadow organization had grown since Will had worked the case, becoming more organized and a lot more dangerous. The map that the IMF had begun of their organizational structure showed just how deeply they'd infiltrated world politics.

_But where do I fit in? And Bill Hanigan?_ Will pulled his own file relating to the Coalition and laid it out. Back then, he'd simply infiltrated the organization, found the intel that IMF wanted, and left. While the intel proved useful, Will hadn't crossed anyone during his time. The mission stood as one of the most uneventful of his had been a good introductory mission for a brand new field agent.

_So why is the Coalition acting now?_ Will frowned at the files, completely silent while Benji and Jane assimilated what he'd told them. _And why haven't they come after me?_ Every person who's file had been pulled had already been killed—except Will. Why?

Will sighed. There were too many questions and not enough evidence. And he was running on adrenaline now. Having a direction energized him, and he turned to Benji and Jane. "Let's pull everything we have on the Coalition. I want to know everything they've been up to for the last few years."

oOo

At midnight, Will found himself standing in front of a whiteboard with everything they knew about the Coalition either written on it or tacked to it using magnets. The Secretary had stopped by, once again apologizing for making Will's first "mission" after Ghost Protocol something so mundane. Will stopped him with a glare, something he likely would never have done to the previous Secretary. This new man was a bit too much of a people pleaser in Will's mind, and men like him didn't last long after they made a few tough decisions.

Now, Will glanced over to where Benji and Jane still worked. Jane had shed the jacket she'd worn on the plane, and Benji still had his tie in place. But both looked rumpled. "Hey, guys, why don't we call it a night?"

Benji's head came up, and he glanced at Jane. "We're good."

Will shrugged and went back to the whiteboard. They'd been assigned to the investigation, and he trusted them to know their limits. Besides, during Ghost Protocol, they had all pushed themselves beyond this point, two of them spending quality time in the hospital.

They'd found quite a lot on the Coalition and why they'd targeted Rastenburger and Winslow. The mission that Rastenburger had researched and Winslow had completed had put a halt to a major weapons deal five years ago. The Coalition had been forced into hiding, with its members going silent and stalling all investigations into their work. Will knew that the CIA had their own assets in place within the Coalition, and one of them had been Bill Hanigan. When he stopped by, the Secretary had brought Hanigan's un-redacted file—the one the CIA should have sent over in the first place. Had Will been able to see that Hanigan dealt with the Coalition, he'd have put things together before Winslow got killed.

Hanigan had spent quite a number of years undercover in the Coalition. In fact, he'd met his young wife that way, and he ultimately had himself extracted after falling in love with her.

And, just like that, the pieces fell into place. Will turned. "Benji, hand me the file on Hanigan's wife."

Jane stood and walked over to him. "What do you got?"

"Might be nothing." Will flipped through the file that Benji had compiled in recent hours on Mrs. Josephine Hanigan. Thirty years younger than her late husband, she had come up in an opulent home and been given anything she wanted. But it wasn't her history that concerned Will. It was her maiden name. He glanced at the board and back at the file before pointing. "Bill Hanigan was married to the daughter of Edward Van Buren."

Benji's jaw dropped open. "And Edward Van Buren. . . ."

Will nodded and picked up the sentence. ". . .was a founding member of the Coalition's US cabal. From what this says, he's retired now, but that doesn't mean he didn't know who Hanigan was."

Jane turned to Will. "That's why an agent with Hanigan's skill allowed his killer into his home. He trusted him."

Will frowned. "I doubt Van Buren did the deed himself. He's in his eighties, though his wife is much younger. But he could have arranged it."

Benji stared at the board. "Wow. Imagine your reaction if your daughter brought home someone you _knew_ was responsible for putting a stop to your business."

Will nodded. "But that doesn't explain how Rastenburger knew her killer."

"Maybe she didn't." Jane shrugged. "How many times do we, even though we're IMF agents, get those crazy salesmen knocking on our doors and selling vacuum cleaners or some such thing? Maybe it was something as simple as that."

Will's gaze narrowed. "Analysts know better." He realized his snappy tone and shook his head. "Sorry. It's just. . .I knew Rastenburger in a distant way. She was careful."

Jane put a hand on his arm rather than saying anything.

Will pulled his mind back to the matter at hand. He glanced over as Benji wrote another name on the list of businessmen known to have dealings with the Coalition—and froze. Whirling on his heel, he frowned. "Benji, you're sure about that?"

Benji nodded. "Yeah. Why?"

Will stared at the name, one familiar because he didn't know if it belonged to his grandfather or not. "Robert Blake. Any chance he's from Wisconsin?"

"Originally."

Jane eyed him. "Will?"

Will ran a hand over his eyes and shook his head. "Robert Blake and my grandmother knew each other back in the sixties." He let out a deep sigh as a heavy burden settled over his shoulders. "Based on what little I know, there's the distinct possibility that he could be my grandfather."

oOo

Noelle was unprepared for Travis's next visit. She'd gone to work the same day that Will left, determined to reopen the B&B side of the business by week's end. Axel needed to know his investments were secure in her hands, and she'd finally begun to feel like she had a handle on the restaurant. The cooks and wait staff knew what to do, and she could still fill in as hostess.

He chose the busiest time of day to appear. The restaurant had been hopping since Greta's collapse, one of the ways the townspeople had come out to support a long-time member. So, when the bell over the door rang, she merely glanced up. Travis smirked at her, and her heart sank. Still, she pasted on a friendly smile and walked over to him.

He eyed her attire. "A restaurant? Really?"

Noelle took a moment to run through the people in the dining room. Dane Winters was there, as was one of his deputies. "Can I help you with something, Travis?"

"I want to know where your _landlord_ is." He put air quotes around the word "landlord."

Noelle held his gaze. "Why on Earth do you think I know anything about his whereabouts?"

"Because he just came into town to visit Greta."

"Just because he visited Greta doesn't mean he was _here_." But she knew she was fighting a losing battle.

Travis knew it, too. He took a step forward. "I'm gonna find him, Noelle. When I do, I'll teach him what it means to take something that's _mine_."

Noelle's eyebrows rose as she felt a presence behind her. "He hasn't taken anything, least of all something that belongs to you. Now, if you'd like a table and something to eat, I'll gladly take your money. Otherwise, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Travis glanced over her shoulder at the person behind her and laughed. "See you later."

Noelle began to shake in rage after he left the restaurant. Why was he back here now, of all times? Did he think she knew everything about a man she considered a friend and nothing more? Yes, Will had stayed at her home for two days. Yes, they'd spent time going over his grandmother's journal. But nothing had happened. _And nothing will if we're right about what's in that journal._

She turned and found Dane Winters watching her closely. A smile touched her face. "Thanks."

Dane nodded. "He's just going to keep turning up," he said softly. "That restraining order is a good idea."

Noelle nodded. "I know." She looked out the front window. "I'll come over to the office in the next couple of days to get the paperwork done."

Dane went back to his lunch and left a sizable tip when he returned to work. And Noelle tried to put the incident from her mind. But she constantly wondered why Travis wanted to find Will so badly. This went beyond merely harassing her, and she couldn't shake the sensation that something was very wrong.

When she arrived home, Travis was sitting on her front porch. He stood, stretching as if he'd been there for hours, and smirked when she couldn't get to her driveway. Noelle stared at him, amazed at his audacity and knowing she shouldn't have been. After the last time, when she hadn't let him into her home, she'd hoped he'd get the hint. He apparently hadn't.

Now, he strode down the front steps as if he owned the place. "Love what you've done with the garden. Very organic of you."

Noelle's eyes narrowed. "You're not welcome here, and I've already asked you to leave me alone. I won't ask again."

"Oh, I'm leaving," Travis assured her. "I just thought you should know something."

"Really?"

He laughed, a snickering that made her feel like she was less than half as intelligent as she was. "You really have no idea, do you?"

"Idea about what?"

"Your _landlord_," he sneered, again using air quotes. "What did he tell you about himself? That he's a cop? An accountant? What story did he spoon feed you that you were too _stupid_ to see through?"

The same anger that made her tremble back at the restaurant now rose up inside of her. "Will Brandt is a _friend_, the kind of friend I knew as a kid and still have. Not that you'd know anything about that. And I've already told you he's not here. He really is my landlord, and there is _nothing_ going on between us!"

Travis snorted. "What was it, Noelle?"

She blinked at his tone. He'd used it on her in the past, and she knew he had reached the point where, if she pushed him any further, things would turn very ugly. "None of your business."

"Then let me tell you the truth." Travis stood less than a foot away from her, the same derisive sneer on his lips as before. "Will Brandt isn't even his real name. It's William _Hayes_. Or, it was before he changed it."

"I knew that."

"You know he's a spy as well?" Travis walked a few steps away, shrugging. "No, of course you didn't. Because you're so _dumb_ you can't even tell what kind of person you're inviting into your home. You'd rather walk away from me to sleep with a man who lies to you about everything he is."

"No." Noelle let out a breath she hoped was calming and instead found her rage growing. "You're the liar, Travis. You lied to me every day we were married, and you haven't stopped. Now, I'm not asking. I'm telling you. _Leave!_"

Travis laughed at that. "He's a spy, Noelle. He leaves you here, keeping house and playing the good little girlfriend to go off to exotic countries and _sell secrets_ to the highest bidder! He's a _traitor_! You know why he was on vacation? Because his own _government_ disowned him! His family, his country. . .Kind of makes you wonder what kind of man he is, doesn't it?"

"No, it doesn't." But her tone was less assured than before. It couldn't be true. Could it? Had Will, the one man she'd trusted since her marriage to Travis, have lied to her about everything he'd done in life?

"Oh, yes." Travis snickered again as he walked past her. "Just think about that next time you sleep with him." He turned and walked backwards toward his car. "Oh, and tell him I want to talk to him. He'll know how to get in touch with me. Tell him the message is from the Coalition. Y'know what? Never mind. I'll just hang out here in town and wait for him. I hear there's a good bed and breakfast here."

Noelle stared as her ex-husband climbed into his car and drove away, spraying gravel everywhere as he did so.

Will was a spy? A genuine, double-oh-seven spy? Or something else? And what was the Coalition?

Too many questions swirled around in her head as she unlocked her front door and slipped into her home. All of a sudden, every horror story she'd heard about homes and phones being bugged came to mind, and she looked around. Was she safe? Was Will listening to everything she said and watching everything she did? Or was someone else listening? She briefly considered calling him, asking him to come to Ephraim, but then discarded the idea. She was a big girl and could make her own decisions.

Noelle sank into her couch as she thought over Travis's words. She'd _trusted_ Will. Or thought she had. But what did she do now, when the man she'd chosen to trust turned out to be no different from the husband she'd divorced? And who did she turn to now that her entire world had just changed?

~TBC


	11. Chapter 10

The emotions didn't hit Will until after he left the office near dawn. All of them were tired, so he told Benji and Jane to get some rest, get some food, and come back around noon. But he couldn't sleep. The realization that his grandfather might have been a member of the Coalition changed everything.

He needed that journal. If he was going to get the answers this case required, he had to read his grandmother's journal and find out what happened that summer.

Another thought occurred to him, one that sent chills down his spine. The Coalition operated on a hereditary basis. Father joined and passed his position down to his eldest son when his son reached adulthood. But Jonathan Blake, the son, didn't have a son of his own—just a daughter named Francesca Noelle Blake.

Will gave up on sleep and reached for the phone. He was going back to Ephraim.

oOo

Will's arrival couldn't have come at a worse time for Noelle. She had opened the restaurant, hoping against hope that Travis would leave her alone. But he never appeared. After the breakfast rush, she hurried over to the sheriff's office and filed for a temporary restraining order. It would take time for the TRO to work its way through the courts, but at least Travis would know she meant business. And, maybe, she'd be able to keep him away so that she could try to live her life.

Still, it would do nothing for the emotions and questions his visit had stirred. Just the little bit he'd told her about Will made her wonder whether she even knew her landlord. Somewhere during the long night, she'd stopped thinking of him as a friend. How could she? They might be related—cousins—and he'd lied to her about who and what he really was.

Or had he? Travis could have made up this entire story just to get under her skin and undermine her relationship with Will. Which meant she was letting Travis win by second-guessing everything Will had told her.

The phone rang as she sighed deeply and rubbed her forehead. Snatching it up, she tried not to snap at the other person. "Hello?"

"Noelle?" Axel Wolff sounded absolutely broken.

Noelle sat up. "What happened?"

"It's Greta. She. . . ." His voice broke then, and Noelle knew. Greta was dead.

The phone slipped away from her ear as Axel took a deep breath and tried to control his emotions. But she didn't hear. Tears gathered in her eyes, a crushing weight on her chest, and she simply stared when Will walked through the door. He stood there for a moment, rumpled and tired and looking oh-so-wonderful in his white shirt and tan tie. Then, he rushed over and pulled the phone out of her hand. He spoke for a few seconds before ending the connection.

Greta was dead. Noelle tried to wrap her mind around that. Just yesterday, Axel had told her there was a chance Greta could improve. Greta couldn't die! She had kids and grandkids and a B&B to run and traveling to do with Axel. She couldn't give up all of that!

"Noelle." Will's firm voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and she blinked, surprised at the tears that rushed down her face. He crouched in front of her, his bag next to her desk as he held her cold hands in both of his. "Breathe."

At his command, she took a deep breath and blew it out.

Will nodded and smiled. "Good. Keep breathing. Don't pass out on me, okay?"

"I'm. . . ." She stopped. She'd been about to say she was fine, but nothing could be further from the truth. "Uh. . . ."

Will seemed to understand what had happened. He put a hand on her shoulder and told her to stay put. Then, he returned sometime later. It could have been thirty seconds later or three hours later. She really had no idea. She just sat there and tried to absorb what this meant.

Out of everyone in Ephraim, Greta and Axel had adopted her. Yes, she and Will were friends and had a decent relationship—save for whatever he'd told her about his job. _That_ was an issue for another time. Right now, he seemed to know what to do while she adjusted to the reality that a woman she thought of as a surrogate mother was dead. Who would she chat with during lunch? Who would she call when Travis showed up? Who would be there to serve tea to writer's groups and tease Noelle about Will and in general make life richer for everyone around her?

Somehow, Will found her purse and keys. He tugged her to her feet and led her out the door. She finally stirred when he opened his car door for her. "I can't." She pointed over her shoulder. "I've got. . ."

"Restaurant's closed," Will said softly. He looked her in the eye. "No one argued."

Of course he'd taken over the situation. He just knew what to do. For the moment, she decided she could trust him enough to let him get her through the rest of the day.

oOo

Will watched Noelle as he drove her to the beach house. He'd walked into the B&B to find her pale and trembling. He heard Axel Wolff's voice from the door and had instinctively taken over the situation.

Now, he worried for Noelle. Greta's death seemed to hit her rather hard, and his reason for being back in Ephraim wouldn't help. He still didn't know what to tell her as to why he needed to take the journal and then disappear back to Washington. And, now, with Greta's death, things had just gotten even more complicated.

_As if possibly being the cousin to a member of the Coalition wasn't complicated enough. It would certainly explain why they haven't come after me, though._ Was it possible? Had Noelle's father protected him from the Coalition's wrath?

At the beach house, Will parked and led Noelle into her home. She seemed to gather herself a bit and took off to the bathroom. He heard the water come on, and then the sound of crying came through the door. She needed it. She'd probably cry a lot more in the coming days, but she needed to have a few moments to grieve now, while the emotions were fresh.

Rather than hovering, Will decided to let her have some time. He picked up the journal and headed for the back porch. He had a lot of reading to do, and now seemed like a good time. Keeping an ear tuned to the bathroom, he opened the pages to where they'd left off and began to read.

oOo

Noelle sat in the bathtub long after the water had gone cold. When Will brought her home, she hadn't known what to do. Sitting and seeing him just do simple things like make her dinner didn't sound like the best way to spend the evening. But she couldn't bring herself to be angry at him right now. All of a sudden, the questions that Travis had stirred in her mind didn't matter. Right now, she _needed_ Will around. And alienating him would undo the careful strength she'd managed to build up after getting home.

Finally, she couldn't take the cold water any longer. She pulled the chain on the plug and let the tub drain while dressing in her favorite pajamas. Something smelled good in the kitchen, and, though she wasn't hungry, she still knew she needed to eat.

She wandered into the room in time to find Will removing a grilled cheese sandwich from the skillet. He offered a smile, didn't speak, and handed her a sandwich along with a bowl of tomato soup. Comfort foods. Maybe he didn't have anything to say, but his actions spoke loudly as he took care of her.

Noelle wandered over to the couch and sat down, pulling the blanket around her body and huddling into the corner while she ate. Will just kept an eye on her, not saying anything, as she grieved in silence. By the time she finished her meal, she wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and fall asleep.

A hand touched her elbow, and she blinked at Will. He nodded toward the hallway of her house. "Go get some sleep," he said gently. "I'll be here in the morning."

Noelle nodded. "Okay." She compliantly padded down the hall and crawled into bed, wrapping the covers around her as tears filled her eyes again. Tomorrow, she would put on a strong face and open the restaurant in memory of Greta. Tomorrow, she'd be the person Axel needed her to be—the woman Will knew her to be. Tomorrow. . . .For tonight, she was just a little girl, hurting and wishing she had someone to hold her while she cried.

oOo

As soon as Noelle's door closed, Will's relaxed facade faded into a frown. He'd been uneasy since the sun set, almost like someone had him under surveillance. Since he'd come on business, he'd brought a few toys with him. And he had just the thing he needed.

Moving silently, he carried his bag to the guest room and pulled out a portable frequency detector. He swept the house, breathing a minute sigh of relief that no one had any sort of listening or recording device inside the home. But outside? That remained a big question in Will's mind. He'd never be able to find someone monitoring the house via a parabolic mic. Not without some specialized equipment that he hadn't brought with him.

Slipping out the door was easy, and Will kept his sidearm close as he circled the property. Noelle's light was out, but, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw her still moving about. She likely wouldn't sleep until the emotions had worn her out completely, which would take time. He had yet to meet someone like Noelle. She wasn't classically strong like Jane, who could shrug off even a nuclear attack. Noelle had the kind of strength that allowed her to feel the emotions, experience the fear, and still keep going.

At this moment, he wasn't certain which one was better.

Finding nothing of concern on the perimeter of the property, Will walked to the beach and stared over Lake Michigan. It still didn't mean his instincts were wrong.

Something wasn't right here, and his case had somehow begun to center around Ephraim. Some of the pieces fit, but others didn't. And the only way he'd figure it all out would be to learn the secrets of the beach house and why his family never came back.

oOo

By morning, the shock of Greta's death had worn off and was replaced with anger. Noelle didn't understand it, but she still couldn't stop the irritation that flooded her at every little thing that didn't quite go right that morning. And nothing went right.

By the time she made it to the kitchen, she was ready to just crawl back into bed and ignore the world. But she couldn't. Axel needed her to open the restaurant, and she needed to make certain the B&B was prepared for guests. Greta's family would need places to stay, and the restaurant would provide food. Knowing the books like she did, she knew that family could eat free while still charging others. It was time for Ephraim to close 'round its members, and she had no doubt it would happen.

The positive thoughts vanished the moment she gained the kitchen. Will stood there, wearing a wrinkled turquoise-colored shirt and black jeans. He'd pulled together a light breakfast and was frowning at the coffee pot as if it had talked back to him. The amusing scene would have made her laugh at any other time, but she caught sight of his grandmother's journal. He'd obviously been awake for a while and reading.

"I thought we were reading that together." Her sharp words brought a frown to his face. He took a moment to figure out what she was referring to before his frown deepened.

"We can." He straightened and stared at her. "Just because I read ahead doesn't mean we can't go through it later."

"Never mind. Not the point." Noelle snatched the coffee filters from his hands and set about making them coffee.

Will stepped out of her way. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know. . . ."

"It's fine." She sighed deeply. "I'm sorry. I'm just. . . .Travis visited day before yesterday, and he said some things that really just got under my skin."

Will gave her a hesitant glance. "What things?" When she didn't meet his eyes, he scowled. "Noelle."

She blinked at his tone. It didn't have the same warmth as before, and he stood like he expected her to attack him. She shrugged. "It's nothing. It's just Travis."

"What. Things?" He never raised his voice, but she heard the command behind his words.

Noelle sighed. He knew Travis, knew her ex-husband's tendencies and jealousy and wild accusations. "That we're sleeping together." She started with the one she knew was absolutely _not_ true. "That you're a spy, that you're selling secrets, that the government denied you exist. He even called you a traitor and mentioned something about the Coalition?" She couldn't stop the question in her voice.

Will changed. As she spoke, his face closed down, and he reached for his phone.

"Will? He was _right_?"

He held up his hand, talking into his phone. "Benji, I need you and Jane in Wisconsin. Now. . .I'll explain when you get here, but I think. . . .Yes. Thanks."

"_Will_!" Noelle raised her voice as he ended the call.

He turned to her. "I can't say, Noelle."

"Can't or won't?" She stepped in his path, blocking him into the kitchen. "Was he right, Will? Was Travis telling the truth for once?"

The way he stood still, not looking at her, and how his jaw clenched slightly told her more than anything he could have said. She stepped back and pointed at the door. "Get out."

"Noelle. . . ."

"You _lied_ to me! You knew what happened in my past, and you _still_ _lied_!" She hated herself for the tears, but she couldn't stop the anger from spilling over. "The _least_ you could have done was tell me you can't talk about your work!"

"I did!" For the first time, anger colored his voice. He stayed in place, not moving toward her as he spoke. "I told you there were always going to be secrets. You _knew_ I couldn't discuss everything that my job entailed."

"But you said you worked for the Department of Transportation." This time, Noelle actually laughed. "I should have known! Who trains federal traffic cops? I mean, really?"

"Believe it or not, I do train people."

"Between your secret missions around the world?" She shook her head. "Benji? Is he one of you, too? A spy?"

"Noelle, you can't. . . ."

"Can't what? Ask you questions that should have been answered a long time ago? Ask you why you kept lying to my face day after day?"

Will sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his face. When he spoke, he sounded like he was trying to keep his tone stable. "I work in a very dangerous job, Noelle. One that could come after you."

"Yeah, and you said _nothing_ to me about it!"

"I was trying to protect you!" His control broke, and he shouted at her. "Did you ever think of that? Did you ever stop to consider that my entire _life_ has been about protecting people I care about? A nation I care about? Did you think that?"

Noelle chuckled again, tears in her eyes as she did so. "Oh, that's rich, coming from you!"

"Is it?" Will moved across the kitchen, speaking as he went with an intensity in his eyes that she'd never seen before. "Do you know what the Coalition is, Noelle? Do you know why Travis mentioned them or what their goals are or what lengths they'll go to in order to keep themselves in operation? Do you know who their members are? Because I do! I know exactly who they are, and I have seen first-hand what they'd do to protect their investments!"

Noelle took a step back, unable to stop herself. Will hadn't invaded her personal space like Travis, towering over her and trying to intimidate her. His entire demeanor was angry but desperate to make her understand. And hurt. In spite of the emotion in his face, she saw hurt in his eyes.

He let out another deep breath, shaking his head and going out the back door. Left alone, Noelle went over the last few things he'd said. Who was the Coalition? Will knew, and Travis _certainly_ knew. So why would they be coming after her? She had done nothing to upset them, and all she'd tried to do while in Ephraim was get on with her life.

Whirling on her heel, she found Will on the deck, leaning against the chairs she'd finally refinished. He rocked back and forth, his eyes scanning the area as if on guard for. . .something. Now that she was looking for it, she spotted the slight bulge at his back that indicated he'd been carrying a weapon since his arrival.

"Will?" When he glanced over, she sighed. "What's the Coalition?"

He straightened. "You don't really want to know, Noelle. It might. . . ." He seemed to think better of his words and glanced away, licking his lips as he did so. It wasn't attractive or even an expression she wanted to see again. "The Coalition is a group of men who help orchestrate major events such as weapons deals and human trafficking. Big things, Noelle. The kinds of things that. . . ."

"How much danger are you in?" When he simply looked at her, she knew. "And Travis is looking for you."

Will didn't say anything, but he didn't need words. His eyes told her the truth.

Noelle reached for one of the chairs and dropped into it, ignoring Will's presence somewhat behind her and to her right. He might have lied to her, but he hadn't threatened her the way Travis had. _No, he just brought a terrorist organization to your door._

She dropped her head into her hand, covering her face. "Travis is part of them, isn't he?" Blinking away the headache, she steeled herself for the next answer. "How?"

"How'd he get in?"

"Yes."

"We don't know. The Coalition's world-wide, and we have only begun putting the pieces together for just a part of it."

"We?" She glanced up at him. "You're CIA, aren't you?"

"No." He chuckled, a smile touching his face. But his eyes were serious. "That's the truth, Noelle. I am in intelligence, and I do go on dangerous missions. But I am honestly _not_ with the CIA."

"So, the Department of Transportation is just a cover?"

"Yeah."

An uncharacteristic curse escaped her lips. She didn't use such language often, but this situation certainly warranted it. "What do we do now?"

Will finally came around the chair and sat down, looking every bit as weary as she felt. "You go to work, do what you would have done anyway. Don't let Travis know you're on to him."

"And you?"

He looked around. "My team's on their way. We're going to start tracking Travis's activities and see what he's been up to. Maybe we can use him to get into the Coalition and bring them down." He turned to face her. "This is dangerous, Noelle. And I'm going to have to cut you off from a lot of it."

"To protect me."

"Yeah." He stood. "After this is over, I'll leave Ephraim. You can stay in the house, but I'll go."

Noelle watched him enter the house and head to his room, presumably to pack his things. She'd gotten what she wanted when she told him to leave. He was leaving. But it didn't feel like a victory. There were too many things going on that she didn't understand, but she did know that Will had just broken all kinds of rules by telling her as much as he had about his work and the Coalition.

The heavy feeling stayed with her as she finished brewing coffee and fixing both of them a cup. As Will walked out the door, he tried to smile but failed. He knew the same thing she felt.

Things would never be the same between them again.

oOo

Benji and Jane arrived by mid-afternoon. Will had put them on standby while he came to Ephraim, and they'd flown out of Washington within the hour after his call. He picked them up at the small airport and drove them to a hotel one town over from Ephraim. The only place in Ephraim big enough for them and their equipment was the bed and breakfast, and he refused to take that space from Greta's family.

Benji asked him about it when they finally settled. "Why here? Why not at. . . ."

"Because Greta died." Will's terse answer stopped any more questions about it. Jane did put her hand on his shoulder as she passed him, her silent way of offering support and understanding. Will appreciated it as much as he appreciated Benji getting to work.

The Englishman started typing the moment his computer connected with the IMF servers. "So, we're looking for a Travis. . . ?"

"Gilbertson." Will looked over his shoulder. "He and Noelle Blake were married for ten years."

Benji gave Will a hesitant glance at the mention of Noelle's name but started his search. While he worked, Will picked up his grandmother's journal and continued reading.

So far, he'd only read a journal filled with stories of one perfect summer. His grandmother had fallen hard for Robert Blake, but she hadn't allowed it to destroy her marriage. In fact, the one time Robert tried to kiss her, she'd run back to the beach house and refused to see him for three days. It tore her to shreds, but she decided to stay faithful to her marriage.

Then Will's grandfather learned of the relationship. Robert had come to the door, and Joseph Hayes had answered. The resulting meltdown included accusations of infidelity and an immediate departure from the beach house. His grandmother, Maryanne, had written about the constant barrage of insults aimed at destroying her self-confidence.

All of that changed two months after they left the beach house. Maryanne learned she was pregnant. Will did the math and realized that, at the time, she'd been carrying his mother. _So this is why_, he thought. _This explains why I was never part of the family._ But he was. According to the journal, Maryanne and Robert never took their relationship into anything physical. That kiss had been the most intimate it became, and she'd run from it. Somewhere in her mind, she'd known that having an affair would cause more problems than it could solve. While she'd have the love and attention she craved, she knew Joseph Hayes well enough to understand that he'd never let her have her children. And, when she became pregnant so soon afterward, he automatically assumed the child wasn't his.

He'd been assuming the child wasn't his right up until Will's mother died. After that one summer, the journal became sporadic. Most of the pages were filled, but a few were empty. The final entry, dated just days before Maryanne died, held one secret.

_I made Joseph promise. And he did. He won't disown his own daughter. But I fear for William. The boy is lost, what with no father to raise him. Michelle does the best she knows to do, but she cannot be with him at all times._

_So many regrets. All centered on this house. This horrible beach house. Why did we ever buy it in the first place? Now, years later, I cannot remember. I just know that my life changed here, for the worst. And it's affected so many people. My hope, by hiding this journal with my books, is that someone will read it and learn from my mistakes. Secrets were made to be found out with time, and mine should be discovered. Perhaps they can prevent another generation from suffering the way I have._

Will blinked at the regret in his grandmother's tone. She had begun writing in the journal as a way to get her frustrations on paper. But she'd ended with a purpose: to tell the truth.

"Brandt." Benji's soft voice felt like a shout in the quiet hotel room. Jane had dozed off on the couch, leaving the two men to work through the night. Now, she blinked when Benji spoke.

Will jumped and then rose, wishing his emotions weren't so close to the surface. First the argument with Noelle and then learning that they _weren't_ related. He didn't know if that would make things better or worse.

Benji pointed at the screen, which showed several things. "From what I can tell, Travis Gilbertson has stayed in the general area. He's got a room at a motel a few miles away, and he's not shy about where he goes." Benji's finger traced the bars that Travis had frequented. "It looks like he's been camped out here for months. But that's not what bothers me. Two days ago, he visited the hospital. I know because he got a parking violation for his visit. The ticket still hasn't been paid."

Will bent closer to the computer screen. "What was he doing in the hospital?"

"I wasn't sure. But I found a familiar name in hospital records: Greta Wolff." Benji shrugged. "That couldn't be a coincidence, so I pulled security footage for her room. Look." He hit a button, and the video played. Will could just barely see Axel sleeping next to his wife's bed. Then, when he stepped out of the room, likely to use the facilities, a male nurse slipped into the room. After checking Greta's machines, he fiddled with her IV and then left. Benji froze the security camera as it caught a good shot of Travis Gilbertson.

When Benji did speak again, he did so softly. "I did some other checking. Greta Wolff died thirty minutes after this." He stared at Will. "Brandt. Travis Gilbertson _murdered_ her. To get to you."

Will nodded. "And it worked."

~TBC


	12. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** So sorry for the late update today! I had a medical appointment this morning for some health issues I had. Thankfully, they all turned out to be of no concern.

**Gingerjam:** Thanks for your review! As you can imagine, the story is getting ready to wrap up. There's still a bit more adventure and action, though, so I hope it lives up to your expectations.

As always, hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

"Where's Travis now?" Will felt the shift in the room. Jane had straightened when he put the pieces together about Travis's intentions, and she now huddled over Benji's other shoulder.

"Uh. . ." Benji typed furiously. "He just used his credit card at a gas station in Ephraim."

Will cursed. "He's going back to see Noelle." He reached for his gun and keys.

Jane stopped him. "Brandt, you can't."

"He's going after her."

"You can't go in there guns blazing," she insisted. "Think this through. He's headed back to Ephraim, yes, but he'll meet up with someone there who can stop him. What about local law enforcement?"

Will turned to Benji, who seemed to have all the answers. The Englishman frowned. "What're you looking at me for?" Still, he started typing. "The sheriff is a man named Dane Winters, but. . . ." Like in Dubai, when he realized they'd have to get to the server room from the outside, Benji's eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

Will frowned. "Benji?"

"Dane Winters is clean, but his deputy isn't." He spun his computer so the other two could see it. "We couldn't identify this man back in Washington even though we had him on surveillance images from the CIA. This is Winters' deputy, and he's in the Coalition. He's one of their go-to guys for infiltration."

Jane blinked. "You're saying the Coalition still has people in Ephraim."

Will thought for a moment. "Benji, run Axel and Greta Wolff through those files we've built on the Coalition. Find out everything you can about them." He reached for his phone and dialed a number on the screen. "Sheriff Winters, please."

oOo

Dane Winters wasn't an idiot. When he received a call from William Brandt, he knew something big was happening. Brandt didn't talk like an accountant or even a member of the Department of Transportation. He spoke like a cop, someone who knew the danger on the streets. Winters had listened to Brandt outline his concerns for Noelle Blake and the coming confrontation with Travis Gilbertson, his own anger rising. Noelle had already filed for that temporary restraining order, but men like Gilbertson just didn't listen unless someone stopped them. Sometimes, they didn't listen at all. Winters was torn between which type he wanted Gilbertson to be.

Still, he reached for his hat and jacket, murmuring something about checking in at the Wolff place. Brandt had stressed the need for secrecy, that everything seem normal so they didn't let Gilbertson know something was wrong. Winters was all for that, but he had the insane desire to just lay into the guy. Travis Gilbertson had terrorized his ex-wife long enough, and Noelle deserved to live her life freely. That was why Winters joined the military and later became a cop: to fight battles others were unable to fight for themselves. It was cliché and his personal mission in life.

The restaurant was busy today, a testament to the news of Greta Wolff's death spreading through town. Winters paused as a moment of sadness washed over him. He'd known Axel and Greta Wolff for a lot of years, ever since taking the post as sheriff, and they'd always welcomed him with open arms. Retirement age since his arrival, the Wolffs had never given Winters a moment's concern. And he'd had moments of worry about other members of the town. A few times, he'd discovered records where his predecessor looked the other way. He'd learned to keep his mouth shut, though, as most townspeople clammed up when he mentioned it. Now, he sensed that all those secrets were about to be unveiled.

Noelle greeted him when he walked inside. "Sheriff."

Winters took off his hat. He could see the grief on her face and felt his heart go out to her. If having her boss die unexpectedly wasn't bad enough, she now faced the worry of her ex-husband returning at any time. "Ms. Blake. How you holdin' up?"

She gave him a brittle smile. "Not good. But. . ." She sighed. "I'm doing okay."

And she was. He could see the strength behind the emotion in her eyes as she escorted him to his usual table. After ordering coffee and a chicken salad sandwich, Winters sat back and began to watch everything.

oOo

Noelle was incompetent and stupid. That assessment ran through Travis's mind as he watched Ephraim's sheriff enter the restaurant. Did she really think a restraining order would keep him away? His man in the sheriff's office had called him that morning after finding the paperwork, asking him what he wanted done. Travis had been so angry he'd hung up on the guy.

Now, he waited. Noelle would be vulnerable soon, and he'd push his advantage. Besides, the restaurant was full of people as more arrived with every hour. Greta Wolff had a large family, and Travis had taken the chance that it would cause Ephraim's population to swell. But it would also draw William Brandt out of whatever hole he'd crawled into, and _that_ was Travis's goal.

A Latina woman and her fair-skinned husband entered the restaurant, wearing appropriately dark clothing. Travis cocked his head to one side. Greta did have family down in the Southwest, so it was possible one of them had come up to Wisconsin. His eyes cut across to Greta's son, leading another Latina woman by the hand. While he didn't necessarily believe in multicultural families, he didn't condemn others for it. Not overtly, anyway.

Sitting back in his car, Travis sipped his coffee and rolled his head on his shoulders. His moment would present itself, and, when it did, he'd be ready. Until then, he had an ex-wife to make incredibly uncomfortable until she spilled everything she knew about her landlord.

oOo

Noelle recognized Benji the moment he walked through the door of the restaurant. The Latina woman on his arm seemed curious about the place, but Benji headed in her direction. For just a moment, Noelle toyed with the idea of blurting out everything both Will and Travis had told her, but common sense got the better of her when she opened her mouth. Instead of revealing information, she simply smiled and said, "Benji! It's good to see you again."

The Englishman's eyes betrayed a shrewdness that his manner didn't. He knew she was lying. "Noelle. I am so sorry to hear about Greta. Will called me yesterday about it."

Noelle's smile instantly faded, and she glanced at the woman, introducing herself rather than replying to Benji's comment. She met Jane, learned that Jane also worked with Will, and then settled them at a table.

It really shouldn't have surprised her that Benji turned up now, of all times. Axel and Greta had already made arrangements for their passings, so the funeral would be held the next day. The various members of the Wolff family had poured into Ephraim, filling the bed and breakfast and other homes as they grieved. But something else was off, something deeper. She couldn't put her finger on it, but Benji's presence in the area at the same time as Will's told her that things were about to get really ugly really quickly.

Maybe it was her distraction. Maybe it stemmed from the argument she'd had just the previous morning with Will. Or maybe she just didn't expect him. But, when the door opened, the last person Noelle thought she'd see again stepped through. He stood tall and straight, just as he had the last time she'd been in his presence. His hair was a bit more white but still had streaks of dark brown in it. And he wore a jacket against the coming rain.

Noelle blinked. "Dad!"

Jonathan Blake turned slowly to face her. "Francesca. Somehow, I'm not surprised to find you here."

Noelle barely kept herself from cringing. "What brings you back to Ephraim?"

"Did you think Axel and Greta knew just you?" Her father eyed the place. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here." Noelle stared up into his eyes, seeing the same brown that reflected at her in the mirror every morning. "In case you don't remember, I don't have a choice whether I work or stay home and sit around all day."

Jonathan glared at her for a long moment. "I thought I'd drop by your place, but I didn't see that junk-heap you call a van. So, I came here."

Noelle bit down on the angry words that wanted to spring to her lips. Up until she'd divorced Travis, her father had tried to support her in anything she said or did. He didn't always succeed, but she never felt hostility from him before. Now, she wanted to get away from him almost as much as he wanted her out of his sight. Reminding him that she'd had no choice but to purchase that van—and that she actually _liked_ the van—would only prolong the encounter. "Unfortunately, the bed and breakfast has filled with family."

"I'm staying at the old Blake house." The look of censure he gave her told her just how upset he really was that she lived in the old Hayes beach house. "I just thought you should know I'm in town."

He turned on his heel and walked out the door then, leaving Noelle more frazzled than before. She stared at the door after he disappeared. Just how was she supposed to get through the rest of this week if, every time she turned around, her father or ex-husband made themselves a nuisance? Her father had _disowned_ her two years ago. Since then, she hadn't spoken to anyone in her family, not even her cousins. The entire Blake clan turned their backs on her. Travis's family had done the same thing. It wasn't until Will came back into her life that she actually felt somewhat accepted.

Pushing thoughts of Will Brandt away, Noelle walked to the hostess station and tried not to collapse. She had at least two more days of this, and she honestly didn't know how she'd get through it.

oOo

The sleepless night was catching up to him. Will reached for the strong coffee, kept warm in a Styrofoam cup, and sipped at it. The gas station's machine put out good cappuccino, and he couldn't stomach anything else outside of Noelle's coffee.

He'd been in this car for three hours, watching Travis watch Noelle. He knew he could call Winters and report the man for stalking, but he couldn't risk Winters's deputy learning that they were on to him. Then, not long ago, a third man exited the restaurant. Jonathan Blake had stood in front of the restaurant as he turned up the collar of his light coat, the disdain he felt for the place evident on his face. It made Will wonder if there was more to Axel Wolff than what even Benji had found. Was Axel part of the Coalition, or had Blake come to town for another reason? The funeral? He didn't strike Will as the sentimental type, though Will knew better than most just how much it meant to men to pay their respects to the dead.

Will keyed the comm mic he wore. "Heads up. Noelle's father's here, and he's a confirmed member."

"_We saw him_," Jane replied. "_Things are calm in here if you want to follow_."

"You can't stay for long without arousing suspicion."

"_Actually, Benji struck up a conversation with Dane Winters about the town and his previous visit, so we'll be here for a bit_." Jane's voice held a note of amusement. "_I think he's planning his retirement_."

Will snickered at the thought. Benji did seem the type to wish for a quiet existence in a beach house where no one knew who he was. For that matter, Will had started wishing for that himself.

About that time, Travis started his car. Will tensed, speaking as he did so. "Gilbertson's on the move."

"_Go_." Jane sounded confident. "_We'll keep an eye on Noelle_."

Will didn't answer that, just eased his vehicle onto the road. When Travis turned toward the lake, he knew where the man was headed. Instead of following directly, he took a round-about way to get there, arriving in time to see Travis saunter out of the house and onto the back deck like he owned the place. Will figured that, since he did own the place, he'd prevent Noelle from facing her ex when she got off work. She might not appreciate it, but he hoped Travis would be gone before she knew.

He parked his car and got out, letting his keys fall through his fingers almost unintentionally. Instead, they formed a weapon he could use. Wandering around the house, he stared up at Travis. "I believe you're trespassing."

Travis laughed. "Ah, the overprotective landlord. I was wondering when you'd show up."

Will watched as Travis walked down the five steps it took to get off the deck. He didn't say anything, just noted every move that Travis made. The other man was loose, as if relaxed, but Will knew better. Those reflexes kicked in only when a fight was about to happen. He subconsciously answered by letting his own stance loosen and prepare.

Travis snorted. "To tell the truth, Brandt, I've been looking for _you_. Noelle's nothing. Just a means to an end."

"She's a friend of mine, and I take that very seriously," Will replied.

"Yes, well." Travis shrugged. "If you like having idiots who can't live their lives without someone telling them what to do as friends, then more power to you. But you're a smart man, very smart. It took me a while to track you down until I realized what it would take to get you back here."

Will met Travis's sneer with a tight smile of his own. "I'm actually here to arrest you."

"You?" Travis laughed. "A Department of Transportation trainer. Oh, wait! I forgot. That's just a cover." The teasing expression disappeared as quickly as it ever did with a deranged bad guy. "William Hayes Brandt, secret agent. I was just going to kill you until I realized what Noelle thinks of you. So, I thought I'd have a little fun with both of you."

Will's concern climbed a bit higher. He'd known for a long time that something was off with Travis, but he just assumed it was the stereotypical need that men like him had to control everyone around them. Now, he reevaluated his position. The absolute glee that Travis had at the thought of torturing both him and Noelle revealed a psychosis reserved for interrogators and assassins.

And everything snapped into place.

Of course the Coalition would need their own assassin. Too many people who had stood in the Coalition's way were dead. Amy Rastenburger, an analyst who organized and researched missions related to the Coalition. Bill Hanigan, an agent who met his wife while under deep cover in the Coalition. And Michael Winslow, an agent tasked with stopping Coalition weapons deals. All three of them had to know Travis's face somehow.

Travis nodded, his expression serious. "Now you understand."

"So, harassing Noelle was. . .what? Fun? Intended to draw me out?"

"Don't go getting too big for your britches, Brandt," Travis sneered. "Noelle's mine. She's always been mine, from the day I met her. Whatever happened between you two. . . .It's just something for me to use after you're gone."

Part of Will understood that Travis was trying to draw him into an emotional fight, but the bigger part of him—the part that cared about Noelle—just wanted to lay into the guy. "Why now? Why'd the Coalition come after everyone now?"

"You're a smart man, Brandt. Think it through."

"Hit us when we're weakest."

"Exactly." Travis shrugged. "You coming back to Ephraim just made my job easier. Once I had your face and knew who your family was, I only needed to track you down. You did one better by being here when I first visited Noelle." He shook his head. "She has no idea how deeply involved she is."

Will narrowed his eyes. The only bad guys he'd ever known to monologue like this were those who had an upper hand. Glancing around, he noted all the different places Travis's backup could be hidden.

Travis attacked in that moment, laughing the entire time. Will, slightly unprepared for the sudden move, landed on his back in the sandy path. He barely got his arms up in time to block Travis's quick blows and heard Benji and Jane through his earpiece. Benji said something about heading his way, and Will shook his head. "No," he muttered. "I'm good. Go after Blake. Stop Blake."

With that order given, he got one foot between himself and Travis, flipping the Coalition assassin over his head to land in the grass. Rolling onto one knee, he launched himself into a low tackle designed to keep Travis down. They tumbled for several feet, coming out on the beach and both struggling to their feet. Will blocked another punch from Travis and delivered one of his own to the other man's gut.

The two men traded blows, Travis with the speed of a boxer and Will with his characteristic deliberateness. For the first several moments, Will analyzed how Travis fought and took advantage of it. He took several hard punches in the process, but he managed to keep from underestimating his opponent. He'd done that in Mumbai, when he assumed that Wistram wasn't in the power room of the relay station. He wouldn't do that with Travis.

He'd just ducked another punch when he heard the sound of a boat headed his way. He glanced at the lake, seeing the sheriff's deputy behind the wheel of a speedboat. Travis had hesitated, too, but he grabbed a bunch of sand and threw it in Will's face. Will fell backward, trying to blink the sand out of his eyes so he could see.

Travis pounced. Will landed on his right shoulder, arms up over his head to keep from taking another punch to the face. He could still see—sort of. He saw shapes and enough to know that Travis wouldn't back off until he was dead.

Opening himself up to one more punch while pushing Travis back, Will jumped to his feet, desperately trying to clear his eyes of the sand while defending himself. He swung but encountered nothing but air. Travis laughed again, seemingly taking enjoyment in his frantic flailing. Will stopped himself from blinking too much or rubbing his eyes, forcing his vision to focus. He straightened and kicked, his foot going over Travis's head but throwing the other man off balance enough for Will to gain the upper hand. He again tackled, this time getting behind Travis and placing him in a choke hold.

The gunshot shattered his concentration and sent him diving for cover.

oOo

Noelle knew something was up when Dane Winters rose and left the restaurant, followed closely by Benji and Jane. Will's friends looked concerned and focused at the same time, and Noelle wished she had the right to ask them what was happening. But she couldn't. In spite of her anger at Will, she understood the need for secrecy. There were things about his job that she didn't _want _to know, much less need to know. Never before had she understood that phrase. "_Need to know_" had always been a plot device in spy and cop movies to keep the innocent or guilty in the dark. Now, she found herself on the opposite side of it and suddenly grateful.

But she couldn't be grateful for what Will faced. He'd given enough away that she knew his entire life was beyond complicated and beyond dangerous. Men like Will Brandt lived with the knowledge they could die at any time. That left him no room for anything other than friendship, a fact she was painfully aware of now that she knew the truth. Will's reactions were too genuine to be faked, and they lined up with what Travis had said while proving just what a twisted liar her ex-husband really was. If Will had ever needed proof of just what Travis was capable of, he now had it.

But what had Travis done to learn this about Will? What was he involved in that allowed him to know Will's true occupation? And why would he know about the Coalition? Unless he was one of them.

The truth slammed into Noelle almost as harshly as the phone call telling her Greta had died. She took a deep breath and held it, unable to let it out for fear she'd fall apart. She couldn't fall apart. She couldn't let anyone see the turmoil she was under right now, not when Greta's funeral was tomorrow and Axel depended on her to keep it together.

The vague sense of panic exploded inside, though, and she knew she had to get out of the restaurant. If she wanted to keep things together, she had to leave. Rushing into the kitchen, she found the cook and pulled him aside. "I gotta go."

"What's going on?" The cook had worked for Greta and Axel for years and often filled in as manager. "Hey, slow down. Breathe."

Noelle forced herself to take a deep breath. "I'm sorry. It's just. . .I've really. . . .I have to get out of here!" Thankfully, the full force of her emotions struck right then, tears coming to her eyes and threatening to escape.

"Okay, it's alright. Take the time you need." The cook leaned over and peered at the dining room. "Axel's here, anyway, and he'll want time with the family."

"Thanks." Noelle didn't stop to say anything to Axel. She just grabbed her things, climbed in her van, and drove away.

oOo

Benji and Jane caught up with Jonathan Blake as he left his home headed for the beach. Both of them heard the sound of a speedboat and knew they couldn't let the man disappear. Beyond being Noelle's father, he was a member of the Coalition and their key to finding who had ordered all the hits. Jane saw just how much Will cared about Noelle and how badly Benji wanted to save her from the pain of knowing just what her father had done. But Jane also knew that some hard knocks in life were unavoidable. Civilians got hurt, and they could do nothing to stop it.

Blake had just slipped out his back door and pulled on a light coat when Benji and Jane rounded the corner. Jane spoke first. "Jonathan Blake. We need you to come with us."

Blake turned, a sneer on his lips. "You carry no identification, and you expect me to come with you?"

Jane had to admit he had a point. The IMF used the Department of Transportation as a cover, not the FBI. So pulling out a badge and having jurisdiction over men like Blake got really sticky at times like this.

Thankfully, someone else made the call for them. Gunshots rang out from the lake, combining with the sound of a speedboat, answering gunfire, and shouting. Blake vaulted off his porch, landing with his knees bent and running toward the beach. Over their comms, both Benji and Jane heard Will hollering for them to get to Blake before he got away.

As far as Jane could tell, Benji never really thought about his actions. He just ran after Blake, launching himself into a full-body tackle that ended up with both men tangled together on the ground. Jane moved in quickly, pulling a pair of zip-tie cuffs from her pocket and slipping them around Blake's wrists. "Jonathan Blake, you're under arrest."

oOo

Will watched from the beach as Noelle pulled into her driveway and just sat in her car. She had tears streaming down her face, and she obviously tried to stop them before they got worse. Unfortunately, what he had to tell her wouldn't make things any easier.

Turning from the heartbreaking scene, Will looked out over Lake Michigan. "Jane? Benji?"

"_We got him, Brandt_." Benji sounded breathless and slightly thrilled. "_Blake's in custody. Where's Gilbertson_?"

"Gone." Will glared at the water, now smooth and showing no sign of the speedboat's passing. His eyes still watered from the sand Travis had thrown in them. "He had backup."

"_So what do we do with Blake?_"

"Take him to the sheriff's office. I want to talk with him." Will sighed. "First, though, I've got a bit of a mess to clean up here."

Jane spoke this time. "_Go easy on her, Brandt. Her world's upside down._"

"I know." Will pulled the comm link from his ear and pocketed it. He didn't want to overhear Benji and Jane telling Dane Winters what had happened and why they needed to use his jail. Not when he had to face the woman now standing on her deck and frowning at him.

Noelle watched as he limped toward her, and Will hated that he wasn't able to hide just how badly he hurt. His ribs ached, though he didn't think any were broken. But he'd taken several strong blows to his face and knew he had a bloody nose, split lip, and possible concussion. All in all, he'd come out of this fight alive, and that mattered more than anything else. He just wished he didn't have to let Noelle see him like this.

He knew when she saw the severity of his injuries. A hand flew to her mouth, and she ran down her back stairs. "Will! What happened?"

He stared at her, trying to tamp down the emotion that her worry stirred. She shouldn't be so concerned for him, not with the argument they'd had just the previous day. She had all but kicked him out of her home, and for good reason. What he had to tell her now would probably destroy any last vestige of friendship they might share. "We should go inside."

His tone brought her up short. She frowned. "Will?"

"Noelle, just. . .Please. Let's go inside."

She led him back to her home and into her house. Will sat while she insisted on treating his wounds. She had a gentle hand, even if she could only butterfly a cut and apply a cold compress to some of his bruises. It helped. She also used an eye dropper with cool water to rinse the sand from his eyes. And it made what he had to do even harder.

Finally, he reached for her hand as she tried to, yet again, make certain he wasn't bleeding anymore. "Noelle. Remember how we talked about the Coalition yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Well, we've been after a killer who targeted various agents who somehow got in the Coalition's way. My name was on that list." Will took a deep breath and let it out. "We found the identity of their hit man, and we made one arrest toward bringing their operations in the United States to a halt."

She straightened, a blank expression coming over her face. "Travis?"

"He's the hit man." Will couldn't stop how hard those words hit her. She gasped and drew back from him, shaking her head. "And the man we arrested was your father."

~TBC


	13. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** Again, apologies for such a late posting. I've got a busy weekend coming, so I'm trying to get as much done early in the week as possible. Plus, it's a federal holiday here in the States, and my folks came to the house for lunch. So, here's your next chapter!

As always, hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Dane Winters met Will the moment he walked into the sheriff's office. Ephraim's lawman was furious, and he didn't have a problem invading Will's space. "Would you like to tell me what is going on in my town?"

Will glanced at Benji, whose expression told him that Winters had been demanding answers since they showed up with Blake. Even Jane looked a touch frazzled, though she covered it admirably. They knew the same thing Will did: they needed information, and Winters would be their best source, particularly if he was cooperative. With a deep sigh, he glanced back at Winters and made a very Ethan-like decision. "Read him in."

Benji's jaw dropped. "Brandt, are you sure?"

"We need back-up." Will met Winters's eyes. "And we can trust him."

"O-kay." Benji's tone said he didn't want to be the one talking to the Secretary.

Will smiled slightly, as much as his split lip would allow. "Benji, I'll talk to the Secretary. But, first, I need to talk to Blake. Where is he?"

Winters answered. "Holding. And I'll make up my mind on whether or not you get to operate in my town."

Will met the challenge head on. "I hope you decide we get to, Winters, because it could get very ugly for your town. One of your people is already dead because of what's going on, and Travis Gilbertson won't stop until he's achieved his goal."

"What's his goal?"

"Me." Will left the sheriff open-mouthed behind him and headed for holding.

Jonathan Blake sat with his back against the wall, legs crossed and a smirk on his face. "If it isn't little William Hayes."

"That's not my name."

"Oh, I know. You changed it when you joined. . . What was it? The Impossible Missions Force?"

Will sat down on the bench across from Blake, more tired than he let on. He'd just come from telling Noelle that her father was part of a shadow terrorist organization, and he'd had to watch her break completely. She'd come close when Greta died, but knowing her _family_ had killed Greta was too much. She didn't care about her father's assets being seized by the US government or that he faced prison time. It hurt, but she could cope with it given her history with her family. What broke her was when Will gently and quietly told her that Travis had been responsible for Greta's death.

After that, he'd listened while she ranted and then held her when she collapsed in his arms. At first, she'd wanted to storm his hotel room until Will told her that they didn't know where Travis had gone. Then, the waterworks had begun. Just being silent and letting her grieve had taken a lot out of him, and the last thing he wanted right at this moment was a full-blown interrogation to conduct.

Staring at Blake, he shook his head. "Look, I'm exhausted, and you have your issues. You should know, though, that I just came from Noelle's after telling her just what's going on."

"My daughter has nothing to do with this."

"Wrong." Will sat forward, his anger flaring and adding force to his quiet words. "Your daughter has _everything_ to do with this! If it wasn't for me and my team, your daughter could face numerous repercussions from both the law and her peers. You dragged her into this when you brought her ex-husband into the fold, so to speak."

Blake's eyes hardened. "Francesca never knew what was good for her."

"You never knew what was good for her." Will refused to let the man pin his actions on his daughter. "You saddled her with an abusive husband and then disowned her when, for her safety, she left him. Do you know she bears _physical_ scars from him? Never mind the psychological ones."

Blake shrugged, completely unconcerned. "If she'd been a good wife. . . ."

"She was a good wife!" Will jumped to his feet. This conversation had gone the wrong direction, and he was too emotional and too tired to care. "Where'd he go, Blake?"

"Who?"

"Travis."

Blake grinned, and Will sensed it. "I have no idea. Your people assaulted me before I could speak with him."

"You know you won't see the inside of a courtroom, right? That you don't get a trial." Will had come to that conclusion on his way from Noelle's to the sheriff's office. The Coalition was a terrorist organization, and known terrorists were treated a certain way by the US government. With his assets gone and his family facing conspiracy charges, Blake had no choice but to escape if he wanted to reestablish his control. Unfortunately, he'd have to contend with Will and his team—not to mention the IMF and CIA—if he chose that option.

"Why? Because I'm a 'terrorist?'" Blake scoffed. "You know that word has become the new version of Commie fever, right? People are so afraid to be branded a terrorist they'll submit to whatever the government wants or claims it needs. All in the name of being a good citizen." He stood. "Well, there are those of us who won't. We believe in a free market, in. . . ."

"Save the propaganda, Blake." Will glared at him. "Where will Travis go?"

Blake shrugged again. "I already told you. I. Don't. Know."

Will nodded and, without another word, left the holding cell. He wandered back into the office where Benji sat at the deputy's desk, sorting through files on the man's computer. Winters and Jane were sequestered in the former's office as Jane carefully explained what the Coalition was and how they operated.

The pressure behind Will's eyes built and built until he couldn't contain himself. He turned and, in a move that startled Benji and brought Jane running, punched the cinderblock wall. It sent shards of pain up his arm, not to mention possibly breaking his hand, but he didn't care. As Jane grabbed his left hand to examine it, Will sank into a nearby chair and buried his face in his right hand.

Everything had come apart at the same time it came together, and he had no idea how to handle it.

oOo

Noelle stood like a statue the next day, wearing black and with her eyes on the ground. She couldn't look at the coffin waiting to be lowered into that hole as soon as the minister finished his prayer. Not knowing that her friend was inside and how Greta had died.

Travis—the man she'd _married—_had murdered her.

That truth, along with everything else that Will had told her the previous evening, continually circled through her mind. Travis was a cold-blooded killer who murdered an innocent woman to get to Will, and her father was part of a shadow organization whose only aim was to control politics and the world. To that end, the Coalition had arranged for weapons deals and all kinds of criminal activities just to gain power. It turned Noelle's stomach at the same time it explained a lot of things.

And she'd let Will hold her.

That bugged her almost as much as the other had. _Well, maybe not as much, but it certainly didn't help me sleep._ When the truth finally started setting in, the breaking she'd felt coming at the restaurant was complete. She'd yelled at Will, her words almost unintelligible as she vented the anger she had for him, for her father, and for Travis. Then, when the anger had run its course, the tears came. Will was there to catch her before she fell apart, and he simply held her together while she cried. She had no idea how long they stayed on her couch, with her head pillowed on his shoulder while his heartbeat had soothed her frazzled emotions, but she'd loved every moment of it. Will hadn't pushed his advantage, hadn't complained when she jarred his ribs, and hadn't allowed her to apologize. He just smoothed her hair back and told her that they were still friends.

But things had changed. Noelle knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that her relationship with Will had been affected by all of this. Up until now, she could trust him, believe every word he said, and look at him as a friend. Now, she couldn't help wondering if he was off to another secret mission every time he left. Was he speaking the truth or telling her a cover story? Would he even come home? For the first time, she began to understand why he hadn't told her what he really did for a living. The not knowing was killing her, and it had only been a few days.

What would happen to her father now? Will had told her that her family's assets had all been seized because, in the end, they were gained via illegal means. But he also said she didn't have to worry about anything, that all of her assets—what few there were—weren't illegally obtained. That meant he'd been checking into her. Had he been investigating her the entire time?

"Amen." The minister's closing word yanked Noelle's mind back to the present, and she stayed in place even as Axel brokenly rose and touched his wife's casket. He then began to weep, his children surrounding him and giving Noelle even less to do. If he'd been alone, she could go to him and try to comfort him. But he had his family.

Rather than sticking around for the inevitable hugging and emotion, Noelle wiped a tissue over her face and walked for her van. The restaurant was ready for a wake, and there was enough to do that she had work for days. She decided her place was there, and she drove out of the cemetery with resolve. It's what Greta would have wanted her to do.

oOo

Will watched the funeral from a distance, seeing the pain on everyone's faces. Except for Noelle and Dane Winters, the rest of the town believed Greta Wolff had died from congestive heart failure—and they'd continue to believe that. It would do no good to reveal that the vengeful ex-husband of one of their members had murdered her to get to another person who sort of came from the town.

_So many secrets._ Will's eyes dropped to the book he held. Jane had wrapped his left hand the night before, and he'd finally allowed himself to rest. He woke this morning sore, regretting the punch to the wall, and wishing he could make things easier for everyone. But he couldn't.

Benji and Jane had worked through the night again, sleeping in shifts to keep an eye on Blake. And, around six that morning, Benji had found something.

Just as Will had suspected, Travis Gilbertson had made a trip to the Hamptons about the same time that Agent Hanigan was murdered. They'd pulled all the information they had on Richard Van Buren, Hanigan's father-in-law, and learned that he had ordered all the hits. Blake was involved because he'd arranged for Travis to commit the murders. But Van Buren had given his okay for the whole thing.

Seeing Noelle leave the graveside before everyone else, Will slipped away and headed for the restaurant. He found her alone in the dining room, making certain place settings and flower arrangements were perfect. She looked tired, her makeup hiding the extent of her breakdown the night before. Still, she jumped when he entered the room, and the expression of absolute fear in her eyes broke Will's heart.

She pulled herself together admirably. "How are you?"

He hated the formality in her words. "Okay." They stood several feet apart for a few moments, then he held up the journal. "I thought you should read this."

She frowned at him. "Your grandmother's journal?"

"It'll explain a lot about our families." Will held her gaze. "We're not related, Noelle, but secrets tore the Blakes and Hayes apart. As far as this is concerned, there shouldn't be any more secrets."

She lifted her chin. "I'm not sure I can handle _any_ secrets at all, Will. Not right now."

He understood. "I'm sorry."

She laughed at that, a desperate sound that was almost a cry. "You were just doing your job. Protecting the nation and all that." She took the journal. "Don't be sorry, Will. Eventually, I'll probably look at you like a hero. For now, though. . . ."

He touched her elbow, somewhat encouraged when she didn't pull away. "When you're ready, call me."

"What if you're. . . ."

He put a finger over her lips. "Right now, you're one of the few friends I have. I don't care what's happening. Call."

"I will."

Will impulsively pulled her into a hug, his heart breaking a little more. He meant every word he'd said. Noelle was a friend, and she had potential to be so much more. But circumstances had torn them apart, just like Ethan's job had torn him from Julia. When he let her go, he saw the tears in her eyes and knew she understood. "Goodbye, Noelle."

She tried to smile. "'Bye."

He left then, wishing things had turned out differently. Outside, he stopped long enough to take a deep breath and look at the sky. He felt as if his heart had just been torn from his chest, and he knew things with Noelle could have gone a much different route. He could have fallen in love with her, and that would have made this so much worse. Right?

Before he walked away completely, he glanced back. The scene would forever be burned into his mind as Noelle stood in the same spot he'd left her, his grandmother's journal in her hands as tears flowed down her cheeks.

oOo

An IMF strike team met Will at the Hamptons with Ethan Hunt in tow. The older agent walked over to the rest of his team, an expression on his face somewhere between a smirk and concern. He shook hands with Benji, nodded to Jane, and turned to Will. "How did you wind up with _this_ mission?"

Will shrugged. "I'm an analyst?"

Ethan accepted his answer. He looked Will over, clearly assessing his ability to continue the mission. "So, what do we have?"

Sensing the meeting had just gone from greeting a friend to a briefing, Will turned to Benji. On the plane, the two of them had put together a mission brief so that the strike team would be up to speed on what was happening. Will started speaking as Benji loaded his computer. "The Coalition is an international group of businessmen who bought into the idea that they could control politics and events worldwide. Each nation has their own cabal, with one man leading a council. They make decisions for the rest of the Coalition in that country, ultimately playing into a much bigger goal. Over the last fifty years, they've been involved in every major conflict and some not-so-major ones. They provide various factions with weapons or anything else they require, as well as using such things like human trafficking, drug trafficking, and any number of illegal activities to finance their goals. Their belief is that they know what's best for the world, not the leaders of sovereign nations.

"Richard Van Buren." Will turned as Benji's screen changed to an image of an eighty-year-old man. "He is the leader of the United States cabal of the Coalition. As such, he sits on the 'worldwide council.' He's also the one who ordered hits on Ms. Rastenburger, and Agents Hanigan and Winslow." Will saw Ethan blink at that name. "He also ordered a hit on me, and the assassin killed an innocent civilian named Greta Wolff to draw me out.

"This is Jonathan Blake." Again, the screen changed. "He is a member of the US council and responsible for providing the actual assassin—who happens to be his ex-son-in-law. We have Blake in custody."

The screen changed one final time. "This is Travis Gilbertson—the assassin. He killed two US agents, a US analyst, and a citizen of this country. We want him. Van Buren and Blake know his location, but Blake isn't talking.

"Your mission tonight, should you choose to accept it, is to infiltrate Van Buren's home, take him into custody, and learn Gilbertson's location. From there, my team will track and apprehend Gilbertson for the murders of at least these four individuals." Will glanced around. "Any questions?"

The briefing dissolved into a muddle of maps, security footage, and logistics, things Will had gone over on the plane. He had the map of Van Buren's beachfront mansion memorized and had begun going through the man's financials. Right now, he needed a moment to get his wits together. Giving a briefing was easy. Leading the mission demanded more. Much more.

Ethan joined him at the edge of the cluster of agents. "Good work, Brandt."

"Thanks." Will eyed the senior agent. "I'm sorry about Winslow."

Ethan's eyes moved over the gathering, seeing the focus on their faces. "It's a risk we take."

Will shook his head. "It's different this time, Ethan. It's personal." When Ethan glanced his way, he continued, "Just after Ghost Protocol, I inherited a home from my grandfather's estate. I rented the house to a friend of mine from when we were kids. Noelle Blake. I had no idea her father was involved in this."

"Is she?"

"No. She was the first person I cleared." Will shrugged. "Gilbertson's her ex, and I hate that this is causing more trouble for her. But I'm not sorry he's going down."

Ethan turned to him. "Just how personal is this, Brandt?"

Will understood the question. If it got too personal, he could make emotional decisions. "I'm not in love with her. She's a friend, and nothing more. I do trust her, but Gilbertson gave me no choice in the matter. He told her about what I do."

Ethan nodded. Out of all the men there, he understood. It had taken his wife's abduction for Julia to learn what Ethan really did, and Will couldn't help but be thankful that Noelle's life wasn't in danger. Not that he knew, anyway. Ethan spoke before he continued that thought. "Your injuries?"

"Superficial."

"Good."

A few minutes later, the gathering broke up, and the mission began. Getting into Van Buren's home was easy, and the strike team had the elderly Coalition leader in custody within minutes. Van Buren's wife and daughter had to be restrained, neither one knowing just what he'd been involved with, and Will's heart sank when he walked through the door. He'd promised Mrs. Hanigan that he'd find her husband's killer, never once thinking that her _father_ had ordered it.

The whole thing echoed back to Noelle's situation.

Mrs. Hanigan's eyes widened when he walked into the room. "You!"

Will met her eyes, not shying away. Noelle had appreciated his direct approach, and he suspected this woman wouldn't want him to beat around the bush. As Benji and Ethan dragged Van Buren into another room for a bit of conversation, Will moved to Mrs. Hanigan's side. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

"You promised to find Bill's killer." She looked from him to the door where her father disappeared and back. "_Daddy_ did this?"

Her mother reached over and put a hand on her arm. "You can't believe that, honey. We'll get to the bottom of this."

Will sighed. "I really am sorry, Mrs. Van Buren. Mrs. Hanigan, your father didn't kill your husband, but he was responsible for his death."

Just like with Noelle, Will watched the woman crumble. Mrs. Van Buren held her daughter, her own tears coursing down her cheeks as her outrage changed to anger. Will wondered if the two women had just begun putting pieces together concerning Van Buren's activities over the years.

Leaving them with Jane, Will moved into Van Buren's study. He found two members of the strike team just inside the door while Benji went through the man's computer. Ethan sat on a chair, looking for all the world like he'd just been about to share a cigar with the elderly man. He glanced up at Will, a smirk on his face. "Mr. Van Buren's not in a talkative mood right now."

"Too bad." Will heard the vengeance in his voice. "Where's Gilbertson?"

Van Buren glared at him.

Will sat down across from Ethan and wearily ran a hand over his face. "Look, I know you're into the whole 'I'm not saying a word' thing, and I understand. But now is not the time to clam up. I need to know where Gilbertson's gone. Otherwise, you go down for the murder of four people, three of which were government employees. Think about your wife and daughter."

"My wife is innocent."

"So's your daughter," Will pointed out. "Her only 'crime' was marrying a CIA agent."

Van Buren's lip curled. "He betrayed us."

"No, he betrayed _you_." Will met the man's eyes. "He was loyal to the things that matter: country and family. The only reason he let you and Gilbertson in his home was because he respected you as his father-in-law. He looked past what he knew you'd done and, no matter how the CIA wants to vilify him right now, I won't let it happen. You? I'm not so worried about you."

Ethan glanced at Will, and the younger man saw the worry on the other agent's face. He normally wasn't so cold when dealing with people, and Ethan knew it. But Will had been pushed too far this time, and he intended to do some good with this mission. Even if Noelle never wanted to see him again, he would make certain the Coalition never came after her. The same went for Hanigan's widow.

Benji left the computer running and started going through files. He straightened a few moments later while Ethan tried to get Van Buren to talk a bit more. "Brandt."

Will moved to his side, looking over the paperwork Benji had found. Then, he looked at Van Buren. "He's on that boat."

Ethan frowned. "What?"

"Van Buren's got a yacht. A very _nice_ yacht," Benji explained.

Will smiled grimly. "And that's where Gilbertson's hiding."

~TBC


	14. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** Well, folks, here it is. The last chapter. And just in time for a crazy weekend for me. There is a sequel coming sometime as Noelle and Will have a lot more story to tell. But my focus is shifting to the next New York State of Mind story. Not only that, but I have some RL issues to resolve, health-wise, so my writing's slowing down. Keep an eye on my profile, though, as I'll be updating that with new titles and summaries as I work out the stories in my mind.

**Guest:** So very glad you're enjoying the story! I hope you like this final chapter.

As always, I hope you enjoy this final chapter, and let me know what you think! ~lg

oOo

Things moved quickly once they knew where Travis had gone. Van Buren's yacht had a GPS transponder, and Benji immediately went to work locating the luxury ship while Ethan and Will escorted Van Buren from his home. The two women in the family had already vacated the premises, carrying what they could and knowing they likely wouldn't return. Thankfully, the Hanigan home wasn't part of the IMF's seizures, so that could be sold to allow the women to live a comfortable, albeit less grandiose, life. Will felt for them, knowing their lives had been shattered by Van Buren's arrest.

By the time he had Van Buren tucked away in an armored van and headed for an IMF holding facility, Benji had a location on the yacht. Travis had stopped just under twelve nautical miles out, still in US waters and giving the IMF agents the ability to call on the Coast Guard. While Jane checked to see if any ships were in the area, Will went over the technical specs with Benji as they plotted their approach and tactics once on board. Ethan arranged for transport: a very nice speedboat docked at the Van Buren home. Within an hour, the IMF team had boarded said speedboat after sending a coded communique indicating Van Buren wanted to meet on the yacht. Will hoped the tactic worked so they could approach, knowing that the coming fight would take everything he had.

Was he ready for this? Could he really kill a man that Noelle had once loved? It didn't matter whether he liked the guy or not. That she had cared about Travis Gilbertson told Will that there had been some good in the man. Unfortunately, he doubted just how much good given the way that Travis had abused her emotionally and verbally from the day they married.

_Yeah, I can do it,_ he decided. Setting aside his questions about Noelle, he focused on the bigger picture. Travis Gilbertson had killed no less than four people, a number that would likely multiply the deeper they dug into his life. Based on what Noelle had told him about her marriage, Will believed Travis had been killing for the Coalition for years, not just recently.

The yacht came into view, a beacon of lights on the dark water. The sound of the speedboat carried over the ocean, and Will found himself tensing up in preparation for the fight. The soreness from yesterday's fight along with the anxiety from today had combined, and he flexed his fingers and carefully moved joints stiff from sitting for too long. He could do this. He _would_ do this. While not as earth-shattering as a nuclear strike, this was no less important to him.

Movement on the deck of the yacht greeted them as Ethan piloted the speedboat toward it. The Ephraim deputy waited for them, his back turned as he hollered something to the lower decks about drinks. He spun when Ethan cut the speedboat's engine and found himself nose-to-nose with Benji and a nine mil. Will put a finger to his lips to indicate quiet, and Benji backed him up with a rather menacing glare. After a moment in which all of them froze, the deputy raised his hands and wisely allowed Ethan to relieve him of his sidearm. While Jane took the man into custody and transferred him to the speedboat, the other three IMF agents quietly boarded the yacht.

Ethan allowed Will to take the lead. That struck the younger man as he inched his way through the yacht. Without thinking, he ordered Ethan to check the upper deck area, realizing that the more experienced agent didn't question the instructions as Ethan passed him. This really was his mission, even if Ethan had years on him.

"Hey, what's taking so long?" Travis headed up the stairs, two drinks in his hand as he spoke. He glanced up and found both Benji and Will aiming at his head. After a beat in time, he threw the drinks. One struck Benji on the forehead, the heavy crystal cutting the Englishman's head, and the other doused Will with cognac. Then, Travis bolted downstairs.

Shaking his head at the other man's arrogance, Will followed. Benji sat down hard on the stairs, shaking the cognac from his eyes and pressing a hand to his cut head. Will heard him pop back up again when Ethan reported the upper decks were clear, but he focused solely on Travis.

Noelle's ex-husband had beelined for the kitchen. Will understood. A kitchen held a multitude of weapons that anyone experienced in self-defense and close quarter fighting could use. He rounded the corner for the galley just as the first shot sounded and wood paneling flew. Thankfully, his reflexes were as quick as ever, or the fight would have been over before it even began.

Will popped out of his hiding spot to fire a few shots, all of them missing. He and Travis traded gunfire, neither one doing much beyond angering their opponents. Will ejected the clip from his gun, replacing it with one from his pocket as he sighed. If this continued, they'd find themselves in a sinking ship because one of those bullets would inevitably cause real problems. No matter how he felt, the IMF wanted Travis alive. That meant Will would do everything in his power to make it happen.

Diving and rolling for a new vantage point in the cabin, Will managed to catch Travis in the arm. The bullet barely grazed the assassin, but it was enough to send the other man's gun flying.

When Will moved in, Travis kicked out. Will caught his leg and wrenched it to one side, dodging the vase that Travis threw at him. The dodge cost him as Travis hobbled to his feet and attacked with the same speed as before. His blows hit previous injuries, knocking the air from Will's lungs. He managed to keep his focus and kicked at Travis's already injured leg. That drew a shout from Travis, along with a blow to his shoulders. Will flattened to the ground, trying to roll with the blow while reaching out for something—anything—to give him an edge. He came up with the vase, which turned out to be metal rather than porcelain like Will had thought. He got his feet under him and swung around, catching Travis in the face. The assassin fell backward, his hands coming up to defend himself. Unfortunately, it put him within arm's reach of his gun, which he grabbed. Will kicked it out of his hand and took a kick to the groin for his troubles.

Doubled over from the agony, he heard Travis get to his feet. The assassin laughed. "Look at you. Couldn't even finish a mission for your precious IMF."

Will glared at him from the tops of his eyes, following the assassin around the kitchen with his gaze and feigning more pain than he actually felt. He'd be rather sore in the morning but, now that the initial blow had come and gone, he was able to push through it and focus. But he needed Travis to _think_ he was still recovering.

Travis laughed again. "What was this all for, Brandt? The IMF? Or your precious Noelle?" He reached out and grabbed Will's hair, yanking his head back and spitting in Will's face as he spoke. "Because you know what I'm gonna do when I'm finished here? I'm gonna go back to that beach house, burn _everything_ in it, and teach Noelle to respect _me_! I'm gonna take her as mine, and there's _nothing_ you can do to stop me."

The sound of a gun's hammer being pulled back filled the cabin. Ethan's voice came a moment later. "How are you planning to do that if I pull this trigger?"

As Travis's smirk faded, Will's grew. He pulled his hair out of Travis's grasp and slammed his head forward. Travis howled as Will's head-butt broke his nose and sent blood down his face. Ethan wrestled the assassin's arms behind his back, arresting him and handing him off to Benji. "You okay, Brandt?"

Will blinked, the combination of his old and new injuries overwhelming him for a bit. With Travis in custody, the pain from the assassin's earlier blow plus the new concussion and stiff muscles caused him to clench his teeth. "Yeah."

Ethan didn't believe him, but he graciously didn't say anything. Instead, he clapped Will on the shoulder. "You did good."

"We're not done, Ethan." Will met his eyes. "This is just one branch of the Coalition. They're going to be setting up a whole new cabal and reorganizing things."

Ethan nodded. "We'll catch them." He eyed Will from the corner of his eye. "We always do."

The sounds of a scuffle on the stairs broke into the men's conversation, and they glanced up in time to see Travis get Benji into a choke-hold. The close quarters and Travis's determination had overpowered the Englishman, whose eyes bulged as he struggled to get his footing on the narrow stairs. Behind him, Travis grinned gleefully, blood turning his teeth red as he happily choked the life from the IMF agent.

Will didn't think. He didn't have to. With the life of his friend in danger, he grabbed the sidearm that he'd dropped a few moments ago and fired. Travis's head snapped back from the bullet, and Benji fell forward. Ethan rushed to catch Benji, and the three men turned to look at the dead assassin.

Ethan shrugged. "Well, live by the sword. . . ."

No one finished the statement.

oOo

With Travis dead, the mop up went rather quickly. Van Buren's assets were seized, and his wife and daughter turned their backs on him. Thankfully, both women had invested wisely, and they would be able to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. Unfortunately for them, they lost the big house in the Hamptons and the luxury they'd been accustomed to in favor of something more modest but still quite large.

Van Buren refused to talk, finding it easier to face the wall and wait for death. Will and Ethan took turns interrogating him about the Coalition's goals, but they encountered silence. The Secretary arranged for his transport to an undisclosed location, though Will knew he'd likely end up dying before he got there. Men like Van Buren tended to eliminate any leaks in their organization, even if they were the leak.

Bill Hanigan received a star on the CIA's wall, though his wife never knew. She got his pension, which wasn't much compared to her own income, and she also personally thanked Will. She somehow knew he wouldn't accept anything from her, so she kept her gratitude to words and recognition. Will humbly endured the process and, after shaking Terrence Oliver's hand, wished the CIA well. He hadn't found Hanigan's killer for the CIA or for any other reason than a good man had died.

Amy Rastenburger had no family, and Michael Winslow's family believed he'd died in a car accident. Both of them received stars on the IMF's wall, and their benefits went to different charities. Will attended Winslow's funeral, standing in the back and presenting the appropriate face for a DoT employee at such an event. In the end, Winslow's family filed away from his casket with downcast faces that told Will they would miss their cousin but not pine for him.

The only people at Amy Rastenburger's funeral were IMF agents, and, while they grieved, they did not linger. Their job was a dangerous one, and all of them accepted that.

Jonathan Blake finally started talking after he learned his ex-son-in-law was dead. Ethan handled those interrogations in light of the conflict between the Blakes and Hayes. Will often accompanied Ethan just to get under Blake's skin, but they learned the most when he simply observed. Based on what he told them, Blake had recruited Gilbertson on the condition that Travis marry Noelle. He had, and Noelle had suffered for ten years before she finally left him. It turned Will's stomach to realize that a woman he cared about had been used as a pawn. It reeked of feudalistic positioning, and he hated to see Noelle reduced to an object valuable only for the connections she offered.

Will finally returned to Ephraim a month after he left. He couldn't be certain how Noelle would react to seeing him and so did not go to the bed and breakfast. He drove past and saw how the place looked the same as ever. It was late, though, and Noelle's van wasn't in its accustomed spot.

He found her watering the herbs on her front porch.

As soon as his car approached, she straightened and watched while he climbed out. The bruises from his fight with Travis had faded, and the muscle soreness had healed. He stood next to his car, waiting while she stared at him.

Finally, she walked down the steps and across the lawn. "You look good."

"So do you."

She really did. The sun had lightened her hair even more, and her skin had a healthy glow about it. Summer had fully come to Ephraim, bringing the vacation crowd that typically appeared this time of year. The sound of laughter echoed from the beach behind the house, and Will saw her smile as a child squealed.

Will took two steps toward her. "How have you been?"

"Good." She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "I made tea earlier. We can sit out back and talk."

"Sure." He followed her inside, seeing even more changes to the house. More furniture had been added, pictures hung, and a general feeling of home swept over him. Noelle _lived_ here, and it showed.

He waited while she put together a light dinner for the two of them and led him outside. The sun sparkled on the water of Lake Michigan, and he smiled. This was home for him, too, though he'd never tell her.

After a long moment, he took a sip of his tea and smiled. "That's good."

"Thanks." She ate a potato chip, leaving her chicken salad sandwich for later. "How have you been?"

"Busy." He answered honestly. Then, he shook his head. "Noelle, there's a lot I can't tell you, but. . . ."

She held up a hand. "I know, Will. I've had time to think, and I believe I understand. With everything that came to light about Dad and Travis, I'm not sure I _want_ to know everything you deal with on a daily basis. Just promise me one thing."

He eyed her, knowing his ability to make promises was limited.

She shrugged. "Stay safe."

A relieved smile came to his face. "I'll try."

"Good."

They lapsed into companionable silence while they ate their sandwiches and drank their tea. The sun set, and mothers called the children to their homes for the night. Will tried to absorb the peace of the place, wishing he could bottle it up and take it back to Washington with him.

Noelle finally stirred. "How are Benji and Jane?"

He glanced over, surprised she'd asked about his team. "They're good. Off on new missions."

"But not you?"

He shook his head. "My last one was pretty big. There's still a lot of work to do, so I'm staying with it for now. The Coalition's international, Noelle. We only brought down one portion of it."

She accepted that with a nod.

He turned to face her as the last rays of the sun caught the lake. "What about you?"

She shrugged. "Still working at the B&B, obviously. We have a new hostess—one that interests Dane."

Will laughed. "So he's finally found himself a girl?"

"We'll see." Noelle grinned with him. "They've only been dating a couple of weeks but, if I'm right, she's The One for him. He's also got a new deputy, a firecracker of a woman named Jo."

"I know." Will chuckled. "He asked me to vet her up and down."

Noelle bit the inside of her lip. "Axel's gone. Left with the kids and is living with them. I guess being here was just too much of a reminder of Greta. I'm managing the B&B now. Thinking about buying it." The mood turned sad. "It's not the same without her."

Will reached over and took her hand, holding it in support. He understood. When he'd lost his mother, his home never felt the same. "You'll make it."

"I know." She didn't let go of his hand. "I'm happy here, Will. I mean, it's hard to know what really happened, but I like it here. I'm really glad I came back."

He smiled at that. "Me, too."

Her answering smile faded quickly, and she pulled away. "I have to know. What happens now?"

He didn't need her to spell out her question. "We have your father in custody." He wished he could shield her from the reality of life. "Travis is dead, Noelle."

She closed her eyes at the news, her relief warring with the left-over affection she'd had for her ex-husband. He might have made her hate him, but she'd once loved him. "Did you do it?"

"To save Benji." Will was grateful to have that very valid excuse.

She nodded, her struggle written across her face. "Do you regret it?"

"I regret a lot of things. This is not one of them." He turned back to the lake. "I know it's your father and ex-husband, and I know there's no love lost between you and Travis. But I know what it's like to have your father disown you. I never had a father, but I had a grandfather."

Noelle took a few moments to get her emotions under control. "Speaking of which, I read the journal." She offered a shy smile. "I'm kind of glad we're _not_ cousins."

He picked up on the unspoken meaning. "Me, too."

They sat there for several more hours, talking about things as topics came to mind. Will listened as Noelle vented about her family and what they were going through, and he shared his regrets concerning the entire situation. Life had not been easy for either of them, and they understood one another rather well. Noelle, in turn, let him think when he became pensive and refilled their tea glasses as many times as it took.

Finally, she offered him the guest room and slipped off to bed. Will stayed on the porch a while longer, debating what he should do. He really did care about Noelle, and he was grateful they weren't related. His feelings could turn romantic with very little effort, though he had promised not to let them head that direction.

Finally, he carried their empty glasses inside and locked up the house. For now, she trusted him with her safety, and it was enough.

oOo

The next morning, Noelle rose and made breakfast in a pensive mood. She'd lain awake all night, wondering what to tell Will. She truly cared about him, but she still couldn't allow herself to get involved with him romantically. As much as she wondered what it would be like to have him care for her like that, she knew better than to jump into a relationship. Travis had done a huge amount of damage to her mind and heart, and she needed to think clearly. Not get wrapped up in something that would ultimately hurt both of them.

Will appeared wearing tan slacks and an off-white shirt. He hadn't put on a tie, but he looked summery and healthy and wonderful. He helped her finish breakfast and set the table outside. When winter came, she planned to create a dining area inside, but she loved the morning sun too much.

They ate as they shared the paper, and Will gravitated toward the political pages while Noelle loved the comics. He read with such intensity that she wondered what secret plots he saw behind Washington's political scene. And that brought her to her problem.

Until she coped with what Will did for a living—with _what_ he really was—she'd always doubt him. Not that she'd doubt that he cared about her or was trying to do the right thing. No, she'd question his motives, whether he saw more than she did, and how much she was really telling him. She needed to get a handle on those doubts, and that was something only time could give her.

Forcing her mind back to the comics, Noelle finished her breakfast and carried their dishes inside. Will helped with clean up while she prepared for the day. She found him in the living room, setting his bag next to the door. "You're leaving so soon?"

He straightened. "I only had a couple days." Shoving his hands into his pockets, he walked toward her. "I'll come back soon, Noelle."

"You'd better."

He smiled, but it faded quickly. "Listen, there's things you need to know. About why our families didn't get along."

She narrowed her eyes. "It was more than that summer between Maryanne and Edward, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "It was the Coalition. Your grandfather joined right after that summer, and he tried to bring mine into it as well. Joseph Hayes resisted, which only made things worse between them. After Maryanne got pregnant with my mother, all hopes of a reconciliation between friends was gone. It just. . . ." He shrugged. "Secrets destroyed our families. I thought you should know what really happened."

"I understand some secrets, Will." She met his eyes. "If half the stuff you deal with got out, there'd be mass panic. I'm okay with that. But I have to learn to deal with it. I have to get to the place where I'm not wondering what secret plot you see behind every rock and tree."

He genuinely laughed then. "It's not really so bad."

"I know, but my mind fills it in." She felt a bit sheepish now. "What is it really like?"

He sobered. "It's hard to explain. Never able to relax, always wondering who's going to come after you, worrying about your loved ones." He said that last bit while giving her that strange, from-the-tops-of-his-eyes glance he always did. It seemed like he was telling her something, something she desperately wanted to hear, and wanted to see her reaction. "You do see secret plots where there are none, sometimes. But it's with much more clarity. I'm trained to analyze, to look at things differently and make snap decisions. I have my 'safe zones' where I know I can relax. Here is one of them."

His admission made the tense expression fade from her face, and she gave him a genuine smile. "I'm glad, Will. Really glad."

He crossed the room then, pulling her into his arms and hugging her close. "Call me if you need anything," he said into her hair.

"I will." She stepped back and looked at him. "I need time. Right now, I want to just accept everything you're saying and run. But. . . .Will, I've gotta figure out what Noelle wants—what _Francesca_ needs. I can't just jump into something until I've learned how to live without everything hanging over me."

"I understand." He kept his hands on her shoulders. "I still consider you a friend, Noelle. A good one—one I trust."

"Good." She squeezed his wrists and sighed as he let go. His trust was freeing. It meant he would let her make her own decisions in life and try to support her. At least, that was part of it. The other part meant he'd call her if he needed anything. _Like that's going to happen._ She wanted to roll her eyes at herself. "Thank you, Will. For everything."

"You're welcome." He picked up his bag and opened the front door. "Take care of yourself, Noelle."

"I will."

She watched him tuck his bag in the trunk of his car and then climb behind the wheel. He paused to take a deep breath, and then he drove away. Before disappearing, he smiled and waved, the same wave one would give a good friend.

Noelle stood on the porch for a long time, grateful she'd had the foresight to take the day off. She hated that her relationship with Will was colored by their families' choices, but she'd seen hope that morning. Will trusted her, in spite of everything. For a woman who had been so degraded she had once doubted her own worth and intelligence, that meant the world.

_~The End~_


End file.
